








Class 

Book 


BEQUEST OF 

ALBERT ADSIT CLEMONS 
(Not available for exchange) 


























































































































































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I 








THE TRUE LOVERS’ TREASURY 







% \)t 

Cruc lowers' 
tErcasurp 


Famous Lovers in Literature and Art 

Thirty-two reproductions of Famous Pictures, accompanied by 
Poems of noted writers, with text by 

Vav*. Carrie Cbompcon 3Lotoell 

Editor of “ The Art Lovers’ Treasury,” “ The Mature Lovers’ Treasury ” 


“ True love's the gift which God has given 
To man alone beneath the heaven : 

It is 7iot fantasy's hot fire, 

Whose wishes, soon as granted, fiy; 

It liveth not in fierce desire, 

With dead desire it doth not die; 

It is the secret sympathy , 

The silver link, the silken tie, 

Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, 

In body and in soul can bind." 

— Walter Scott. 



Boston ^ Dana Estes 
& Company Publishers 



> » 

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p'N 6>no 
, U L (* 


Copyright, 1907 

By Dana Estes & Company 


All rights reserved 

Bequest 

Albert Adsit Clemons 
Aug. 24, 1938 
(Not available for exchange) 

THE TRUE LOVER’S TREASURY 


COLONIAL PRESS 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Sitnonds &* Co. 
Boston , U. S. A . 


TO 

JHp $Jtat!)CT 


FOREWORD 


It would be impossible to bring together in one 
small volume all of the famous lovers who occupy 
a place in the great world of literature and art. 
Some of these lovers are best known through 
pictures, and others through poems; but those 
who have found footing in the limited circle herein 
represented have been depicted by both painter 
and poet. Many of these stories are so familiar 
that one can hardly refrain from apologizing for 
including them. 

In retelling these romances I have been able to 
do little more than to reflect the minds of other 
writers, for, indeed, “ I am but a gatherer and 
disposer of other men’s stuff.” The task has been 
a pleasant one, and if occasionally I have borrowed 
more than I ought, it has been done unconsciously. 
So many authorities have been consulted that a 
list of them would make a voluminous catalogue. 


viii 


Foreword 


Dr. Johnson came near the truth when he said, 
“ A man will turn over half a library to make one 
book.” 

Special thanks are due Messrs. Little, Brown, 
and Company who have kindly allowed me to 
include a selection from Goethe’s “ Hermann and 
Dorothea ; ” and also to Mr. Ernest McGaffey for 
permission to use a sonnet from his choice vol- 
ume “ Sonnets to a Wife.” 

It is hoped that this collection will, not only 
be of interest to the general reader, but that it will 
be found sufficiently accurate to be of use as a 
reference book. As a guarantee of good faith I can 
only repeat Sir Walter Scott’s words : 

“ I cannot tell how the truth may be ; 

I say the tale as ’twas said to me.” 

Carrie Thompson Lowell. 

Portland, Maine, July , 1907 . 


CONTENTS 


♦ 

PAGE 

Daphnis and Chloe II 

Hero and Leander 21 

Pyramus and Thisbe 33 

Cephalus and Procris 43 

Cupid and Psyche 53 

Pygmalion and Galatea 69 

Ulysses and Penelope 81 

Hector and Andromache .... 93 

Cymon and Iphigenia 103 

Lisa 

Paolo and Francesca . . . . .121 

Dante and Beatrice 133 

Petrarch and Laura 145 

Michael Angelo and Vittoria Colonna . 157 

Abelard and Heloise 165 

Aucassin and Nicolette . . . *175 

Paul and Virginia 187 

Atala 195 

Frithiof and Ingeborg 203 

Baile and Aillinn 213 

Romeo and Juliet 221 

Elizabeth and Tannhauser .... 231 

Tristram and Iseult 241 


IX 


X 


Contents 


PAGE 

Elaine 253 

Lancelot and Guinevere .... 263 

Geraint and Enid 275 

Faust and Marguerite 285 

Mignon 297 

Hermann and Dorothea 307 

Evangeline and Gabriel . . . .321 

Jacob and Rachel 333 

Darby and Joan 341 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

♦ 

PAGE 

At the Shrine of Venus . . . Frontispiece 

Daphnis and Chloe 13 

Hero and Leander 23 

Thisbe 35 

Cephalus and Procris 45 

Cupid and Psyche 55 

Mary Anderson as Galatea . . . .71 

Penelope 83 

Hector and Andromache .... 95 

Cymon and Iphigenia 105 

Lisa 113 

Paolo and Francesca 123 

Dante and Beatrice 135 

Petrarch and Laura 147 

Michael Angelo and Vittoria Colonna . 1 59 

Heloise 167 

Aucassin and Nicolette . . . . 1 77 

Paul and Virginia 189 

Atala 197 

Frithiof and Ingeborg 205 

Romeo and Juliet 223 

Elizabeth and Tannhauser .... 233 

Tristram and Iseult 243 


xi 


Xll 


List oj Illustrations 


Elaine .... 




PAGE 

Lancelot and Guinevere 

• 

• 

• 

. 265 

Geraint and Enid . 

• 

• 

• 

. 277 

Faust and Marguerite . 

• 

• 


. 287 

Mignon .... 

• 

• 

• 

. 299 

Hermann and Dorothea . 

• 

• 

• 

• 309 

Evangeline and Gabriel 

• 

• 

• 

• 323 

Jacob and Rachel . 

• 

• 

• 

• 335 

Darby and Joan 

• 

• 

. 

• 343 


DAPHNIS AND CHLOE 

“ They were young and glad together 
In the dawn of life’s first May, 

When in bright and sunny weather 
Sang the birds from every spray.” 

— George Barlow 

































- 


































































































THE 

TRUE LOVERS' TREASURY 


DAPHNIS AND CHLOE 

To the prose tales of the Greeks, may be traced 
the rise of romantic love in literature. The story 
of Daphnis and Chloe, attributed to Longus, is 
by far the best of these tales. Nothing is positively 
known concerning the author, and there is even 
some doubt as to his name. He is supposed to 
have been a Lesbian, living in the fifth century. 
The prose idyl of Daphnis and Chloe is said to 
be the first love story in the literature of the world 
that relates at length the growth and development 
of the passion of love. 

In still older Greek writings we find Daphnis 
represented as the son of the god Mercury and a 
Sicilian nymph. He received his name from being 
found under the bay-trees or daphnes. The 
13 


14 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

Muses bestowed upon him the gift of music and 
the god Pan instructed him in this art. He be- 
came the lover of the Naiad Chloe, and was for a 
long time faithful to her, but finally, breaking the 
oath with which she had bound him, was punished 
with blindness. Theocritus has it that he died of 
remorse because he had perjured himself. 

Longus’ version of the affair differs materially 
from that given by the poets. His hero and 
heroine are of noble birth, deserted similarly in 
infancy by their parents. Lamon the goatherd, 
discovers an infant exposed to the mercies of the 
beasts of the field, but watched over by one of the 
goats of Lamon’s own flock. He takes the boy 
home to his wife Myrtale, and the pair adopt the 
little foundling as their own, giving him the name 
of Daphnis to accord with their rustic condition. 

Two years later a neighboring shepherd, Dyras 
by name, chances upon a baby girl under much 
the same circumstances, and he and his wife Nape 
gladly welcome the little stranger as a gift from 
the gods, bestowing upon her the pastoral name 
of Chloe. 

In Wordsworth’s “ Excursion ” there is a 
passage which will serve as an appropriate prelude 
to the action of the story. 


Daphnis and Chloe 


15 


“ Once more to distant ages of the world 
Let us revert, and place before our thoughts 
The face which rural solitude might wear 
To the unenlighten’d swains of pagan Greece. 

In that fair clime the lonely herdsman, stretch’d 
On the soft grass through half a summer’s day, 
With music lull’d his indolent repose; 

And, in some fit of weariness, if he, 

When his own breath was silent, chanced to hear 
A distant strain, far sweeter than the sounds 
Which his poor skill could make, his fancy fetch’d 
Even from the blazing chariot of the sun, 

A beardless youth, who touch’d a golden lute, 

And fill’d the illumined groves with ravishment. 
The nightly hunter, lifting up his eyes 
Towards the crescent moon, with grateful heart 
Call’d on the lovely wanderer who bestow’d 
That timely light, to share his joyous sport; 

And hence a beaming goddess, with her nymphs, 
Across the lawn and through the darksome grove 
(Not unaccompanied with tuneful notes 
By echo multiplied from rock or cave) 

Swept in the storm of chase, as moon and stars 
Glance rapidly along the clouded heavens, 

When winds are blowing strong. The traveller 
slaked 

His thirst from rill or gushing fount, and thank’d 
The Naiad. Sunbeams upon distant hills 
Gliding apace, with shadows in their train, 

Might with small help from fancy, be transform’d 


1 6 The True Lovers' Treasury 

Into fleet Oreads, sporting visibly. 

The Zephyrs fanning as they pass’d, their wings, 
Lack’d not for love, fair objects, whom they woo’d 
With gentle whisper. Wither’d boughs grotesque, 
Stripp’d of their leaves and twigs by hoary age, 
From depth of shaggy covert peeping forth 
In the low vale, or on steep mountain-side — 

And sometimes intermix’d with stirring horns 
Of the live deer, or goat’s depending beard — 

These were the lurking satyrs, a wild brood 
Of gamesome deities or Pan himself, 

The simple shepherd’s awe-inspiring god ! ” 

And now without further preface let us look 
upon Daphnis and Chloe as Longus presents 
them. 

“ Daphnis and Chloe grew rapidly, and their 
comeliness far exceeded the common appearance 
of rustics. The former had completed his fif- 
teenth year and Chloe her thirteenth, when on the 
same night a vision appeared to Lamon and Dryas 
in a dream. They each thought that they beheld 
the Nymphs of the grotto, where the fountain 
played and where Dryas had found the little girl, 
presenting Daphnis and Chloe to a young boy of 
very sprightly gait and beautiful mien, who had 
wings on his shoulders, and who carried a little 
bow and some arrows in his hand. The urchin 


Daphnis and Chloe 


17 

lightly touched the young people with one of his 
shafts, and commanded them to devote themselves 
to a pastoral life. To Daphnis he committed the 
care of the sheep. 

“ When this vision appeared to the shepherd 
and the goatherd, they were grieved to think that 
their adopted children should, like themselves, 
be destined to tend animals. From the tokens 
found with the infants, they had augured for the 
latter a better fortune; and in this expectation 
they had brought them up in a more delicate 
manner, and had procured for them more instruc- 
tion and accomplishments, than usually fall to the 
lot of shepherds’ offspring. 

“It appeared to them, however, that with regard 
to children whom the gods had preserved, the will 
of the gods must be obeyed; and each having 
communicated his dream to the other, they re- 
paired to the grotto, offered up a sacrifice to the 
companion of the Nymphs, — ‘ the winged boy,’ 
with whose name they were unacquainted, 
— and then sent the youth and maiden forth into 
the fields, having however first instructed them 
in their pastoral duties. They taught them, for 
instance, whither they should guide their herds be- 
fore the noonday heat, whither they should con- 


1 8 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

duct them when it had abated, at what time it 
was meet to lead them to the stream, and at what 
hour they should drive them home to the fold. 
They showed them also in which instances the use 
of the crook was required, and in which the voice 
alone would suffice. . 

“ The young people received the charge of the 
sheep and goats with as much exultation as if they 
had acquired some powerful sovereignty, and felt 
more affection for their animals than shepherds 
usually feel; for Chloe reflected that she owed 
her preservation to a ewe, and Daphnis remem- 
bered that a she-goat had suckled him. 

“ It was then the beginning of spring. In the 
wood and meadows and on the mountains the 
flowers were blooming amid the buzzing mur- 
murs of the bees, the warbling of the birds, and 
the bleating of the lambs. The sheep were 
skipping on the slopes, the bees flew humming 
through the meadows, and the songs of the birds 
resounded among the bushes. All nature joined 
in rejoicing at the springtide; and Daphnis and 
Chloe, as they were young and susceptible, imita- 
ted whatever they saw or heard. Hearing the 
carols of the birds, they sang ; at sight of the play- 
ful skipping of the lambs they danced; and in 


Daphnis and Chloe 


19 


imitation of the bees they gathered flowers, some 
of which they placed in their bosoms, whilst with 
others they wove chaplets which they carried as 
offerings to the Nymphs. They tended their 
flocks and herds together, and carried on all their 
vocations in common. Daphnis frequently col- 
lected such of the sheep as had strayed ; and if a 
goat ventured too near a precipice, Chloe drove it 
back. Sometimes one took the entire manage- 
ment both of the goats and the sheep, whilst the 
other was engaged in some amusement. 

“ Their sports were of a childish, pastoral char- 
acter : Chloe would neglect her flocks to roam in 
search of day-lilies, the stalks of which she twisted 
into traps for locusts ; while Daphnis often played 
from mom till eve upon a pipe which he had 
formed of slender reeds, perforating them between 
their joints and securing them together with soft 
wax. The young folks now often shared their 
milk and wine, and made a common meal of the 
food which they had brought from home as pro- 
vision for the day; and the sheep might sooner 
have been seen to disperse and browse apart, 
than Daphnis to separate himself from Chloe.” 

In this fashion, marred at times by sensuality, 
the story is continued through four books. The 


20 The True Lovers 1 Treasury 

action takes place amid landscapes of great 
natural beauty. There is little plot, merely a 
series of pictures and adventures filled with primi- 
tive emotion. The story ends like a fairy tale with 
the appearance of the parents upon the scene, the 
restoration of their respective inheritances to the 
newly-found son and daughter, whose marriage 
is about to be celebrated. 

This Greek romance has been most ably trans- 
lated into French by Jacques Amyot, afterwards 
Bishop of Auxerre, and has become closely iden- 
tified with French literature. An English transla- 
tion by Angel Day was not as successful as 
Amyot’s. 

The story has been translated and imitated in 
all civilized languages. St. Pierre in “ Paul and 
Virginia ” has merely clothed the classic tale in 
modem apparel, giving to it at times much the 
same effect that dress would have upon Greek 
statuary. Allen Ramsay’s pastoral drama, in 
Scotch dialect, entitled “ The Gentle Shepherd ” 
and Torquato Tasso’s pastoral drama, “ Aminta ” 
may be traced to “ Daphnis and Chloe.” The 
subject has appealed particularly to French 
artists, and numerous illustrations have given an 
added value to the book. 


HERO AND LEANDER 


“ God Eros, setting notch to string, 
Wounded two bosoms with one shaft-shooting, 
A maiden’s and a youth’s — Leander he, 

And lovely Hero, Sestos’ sweetest, she; 

She of her town, and he of his, the boast; 

A noble pair ! ” 


— Edwin Arnold. 









HERO AND LEANDER 


Presumably about the time that Longus was 
telling the story of “ Daphnis and Chloe,” another 
Greek, Musaeus by name, enriched the romantic 
literature of the world with the tragical tale of 
“ Hero and Leander.” The story of these famous 
lovers, “ the Juliet and Romeo of the Darda- 
nelles,” had been told before Musaeus’ day, but 
never in such complete and excellent fashion. 
Professor Muller, a distinguished German Hellen- 
ist, says : — “ For grace of diction, metrical ele- 
gance and simple pathos, which avoids all viola- 
tions of good taste, this little canto stands far be- 
fore the other poems of the same age.” The 
“ Daphnis and Chloe ” of Longus and the “ Hero 
and Leander ” of Musaeus have been spoken of 
as “ swan songs of Greek genius, each with all the 
pure force of Greek art, and yet infused with the 
spirit of Romantic Love so characteristic of the 
modem temper.” 

Hero, a priestess of the temple of Aphrodite, 
was loved by Leander, who every night swam 
23 


24 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


across the Hellespont to meet her ; guided by the 
light of a torch which Hero erected on the cliffs of 
Sestos. 

“ Sweet, for thy love the watery way I’d cleave, 
Though foam were fire, and waves with flame did 
heave ; 

I fear not billows if they bear to thee, 

Nor tremble at the hissing of the sea; 

Do but one thing — set thine own lamp on high 
To shine at evening through the silent sky, 

And I will be Love’s ship, my pilot-star 
That beam; whereto oaring my way afar, 

I shall not see Bootes, nor the Wain, 

And bright Orion will be bright in vain. 

Only take heed, dear, of the winds, and shield 
The light, that when I toil, by waves concealed, 

It be not quenched by any envious blast, 

Lest I go down, a ship and venture lost.” 

— Edwin Arnold. 

One night, however, a terrific storm extin- 
guished the light, and, after a desperate struggle, 
the unfortunate Leander was overcome by the 
fury of the waves. 

“ But he, Leander, almost half across, 

Threw his blithe locks behind him with a toss, 

And hailed the light victoriously, secure 


Hero and Leander 


25 


Of clasping his kind love, so sweet and sure; 
When suddenly, a blast, as if in wrath, 

Sheer from the hills, came headlong on his path ; 
Then started off ; and driving round the sea, 
Dashed up the panting waters roaringly. 

The youth at once was thrust beneath the main 
With blinded eyes, but quickly rose again, 

And with a smile at heart, and stouter pride, 
Surmounted, like a god, the rearing tide. 

But what ? The torch gone out ! So long, too ! See, 
He thinks it comes ! Ah, yes, — ’tis she ! ’tis she ! 
Again he springs; and though the winds arise 
Fiercer and fiercer, swims with ardent eyes; 

And always, though with ruffian waves dashed hard, 
Turns thither with glad groan his stout regard; 
And always, though his sense seems washed away, 
Emerges, fighting towards the cordial ray. 

“ But driven about at last, and drenched the while, 
The noble boy loses that inward smile. 

For now, from one black atmosphere, the rain 
Sweeps into stubborn mixture with the main; 

And the brute wind, unmuffling all its roar, 

Storms ; and the light, gone out, is seen no more. 
Then dreadful thoughts of death, of waves heaped 
on him, 

And friends and parting daylight rush upon him. 
He thinks of prayers to Neptune and his daughters, 
And Venus, Hero’s queen, sprung from the waters; 
And then of Hero only, — how she fares, 


26 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


And what she’ll feel, when the blank morn appears ; 
And at that thought he stiffens once again 
His limbs, and pants, and strains, and climbs — in 
vain. 

Fierce draughts he swallows of the wilful wave, 
His tossing hands are lax, his blind look grave, 
Till the poor youth (and yet no coward he) 

Spoke once her name, and, yielding wearily, 
Wept in the middle of the scornful sea.” 

— Leigh Hunt. 

When Hero discovered his dead body floating 
in the water, she threw herself from the cliff into 
the sea and was drowned. 

The epic poem by Musaeus contains three hun- 
dred and forty-one lines. It was first put into 
English by Christopher Marlowe, who enlarged 
upon the theme, but was unable to finish it. After 
Marlowe’s death the paraphrase was completed 
by George Chapman, whose work was inferior to 
that of his predecessor. Of Marlowe’s version 
Swinburne says : “ His poem stands alone in its 
age, and far ahead of any possible competition be- 
tween the death of Spenser and the dawn of Mil- 
ton. In clear mystery of narrative and presenta- 
tion, in melodious ease and simplicity of strength, 
it is not less pre-eminent than in the adorable 


Hero and Leander 


27 

beauty and perfection of separate lines or 
passages.” 

The first meeting of Hero and Leander is thus 
described by Marlowe. 

“ On Hellespont, guilty of true love’s blood, 

In view and opposite two cities stood, 

Sea-borderers, disjoined by Neptune’s might; 

The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight. 

At Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero the fair, 

Whom young Apollo courted for her hair, 

And offered as a dower his burning throne, 

Where she should sit, for men to gaze upon. 

The outside of her garments were of lawn, 

The lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn; 

Her wide sleeves green, and bordered with a grove, 
Where Venus in her naked glory strove 
To please the careless and disdainful eyes 
Of proud Adonis, that before her lies; 

• Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain, 

Made with the blood of wretched lovers slain. 
Upon her head she wore a myrtle wreath, 

From whence her veil reached to the ground be- 
neath : 

Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves, 

Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives : 
Many would praise the sweet smell as she passed, 
When ’twas the odor which her breath forth cast ; 
And there for honey bees have sought in vain, 

And, beat from thence, have lighted there again. 


28 


The True Lovers ’ Treasury 


About her neck hung chains of pebble-stone, 
Which, lightened by her neck, like diamonds shone. 
She wore no gloves ; for neither sun nor wind 
Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind 
Or warm or cool them, for they took delight 
To play upon those hands, they were so white. 

I 

On this feast-day, — O cursed day and hour ! — 
Went Hero thorough Sestos, from her bower 
To Venus’ temple, where unhappily, 

As after chanced, they did each other spy. 

So fair a church as this had Venus none: 


And in the midst a silver altar stood : 

There Hero, sacrificing turtles' [doves’] blood, 
Veiled to the ground, veiling her eyelids close; 

And modestly they opened as she rose ; 

Thence flew Love’s arrow with the golden head ; 
And thus Leander was enamored. 

Stone-still he stood, and evermore he gazed, 

Till with the fire, that from his countenance blazed, 
Relenting Hero’s gentle heart was strook : 

Such force and virtue had an amorous look. 

It lies not in our power to love or hate, 

For will in us is over-ruled by fate. 

When two are stripped, long ere the course begin, 
We wish that one should lose, the other win ; 

And one especially do we affect 

Of two gold ingots, like in each respect: 

The reason no man knows ; let it suffice, 


Hero and Leander 


29 


What we behold is censured by our eyes. 

Where both deliberate, the love is slight: 

Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight ? ” 

This favorite classic has also been translated 
by Sir Edwin Arnold. Leigh Hunt has given us 
his version of the story; Keats has written a 
sonnet; Schiller has composed a ballad, and 
Grillparzer has founded a drama on the sad fate 
of the lovers. Lord Byron, who by his own act 
proved that it was possible to swim the Hellespont, 
refers in the “ Bride of Abydos,” to Leander’s 
deed. 

“ The winds are high on Helle’s wave, 

As on that night of stormiest water 
When Love, who sent, forgot to save 
The young, the beautiful, the brave, 

The lonely hope of Sestos’ daughter. 

Oh, when alone along the sky 
The turret-torch was blazing high, 

Though rising gale and breaking foam, 

And shrieking sea-birds warned him home; 

And clouds aloft and tides below, 

With signs and sounds forbade to go, 

He could not see, he would not hear 
Or sound or sight foreboding fear. 

His eye but saw that light of love, 

The only star it hailed above; 


3 ° 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


His ear but rang with Hero’s song, 

‘Ye waves, divide not lovers long.’ 

That tale is old, but love anew 

May nerve young hearts to prove as true.” 

The story has been reproduced in sculpture; 
painters of the school of David have depicted the 
scene on canvas, and there is a well known and 
popular painting by C. Von Bodenhausen. The 
incident portrayed by Bodenhausen is described 
thus in Schiller’s fine ballad : 

“ Now the tempests wild are sleeping, 

And from the horizon creeping 
Rays of morning streak the skies, 

Peaceful as it lay before 
The placid sea reflects the shore, 

Skies kiss waves and waves the skies. 

Little ripples, lightly plashing, 

Break upon the rock-bound strand, 

And they trickle, lightly playing 
O’er a corpse upon the sand. 

“Yes, ’tis he! although he perished, 

Still his sacred troth he cherished, 

An instant’s glance tells all to her; 

Not a tear her eye lets slip, 

Not a murmur leaves her lip; 

Down she looks in cold despair; 


Hero and Leander 


3 1 


Gazes round the desert sea, 

Trustless gazes round the sky, 

Flashes then of noble fire 

Through her pallid visage fly! 

“ 4 Yes, I know, ye mighty powers, 

Ye have drawn the fated hours 
Pitiless and cruel on. 

Early full my course is over. 

Such a course with such a lover; 

Such a share of joy I’ve known. 

Venus, queen, within thy temple, 

Thou hast known me vowed as thine, 
Now accept thy willing priestess 
As an offering at thy shrine.’ 

“ Downward then, while all in vain her 
Fluttering robes would still sustain her, 
Springs she into Pontus’ wave; 

Grasping him and her, the god 
Whirls them in his deepest flood, 

And, himself, becomes their grave. 

With his prizes then contented, 

Peaceful bids his waters glide, 

From the unexhausted vessels, 

Whence there streams an endless tide.” 














































































































* 






















• m 













































PYRAMUS AND THISBE 


Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show; 

But wonder on, till truth makes all things plain. 
This man is Pyramus, if you would know; 
This lovely lady Thisbe is certain.” 

— Shakespeare. 







PYRAMUS AND THISBE 


Divided by an unhappy feud involving their 
respective families, Pyramus and Thisbe, like 
Romeo and Juliet, were forced to seek each other’s 
society clandestinely. Aided by Venus they dis- 
cover a crack in the wall which separates the two 
houses. Here they spend many hours in tender 
converse. 

“ Oft punctual at their posts, — on this side she, 
And Pyramus on that ; — each breathing sighs, 
By turns inhaling, have they mutual cried; 

4 Invidious wall ! why lovers thus divide ? 

Much were it, did thy parts more wide recede, 

And suffer us to join ? were that too much 
A little opening more, and we might meet 
With lips at least. Yet grateful still we own 
Thy kind indulgence, which a passage gives, 

And amorous words conveys to loving ears.’ 

Thus they loquacious, though on sides diverse, 
Till night their converse stayed ; — then cried, 
4 Adieu ! ’ 

And each imprinted kisses, which the stones 
Forbade to taste.” — Ovid. 


35 


36 The True Lovers' Treasury 

On one of these occasions a meeting is planned 
to take place outside the city gates. Thisbe 
arrives first at the trysting place, but is frightened 
away by a lioness. In her flight she drops her 
mantle. Pyramus finding the tom mantle, and 
noting the marks of the beast, believes Thisbe 
dead and puts an end to himself. Thisbe returns 
to find her lover slain by his own hand, and un- 
derstanding the cause breaks into a lament : 

“ ‘ Alas ! thy hand, by love impelled, 

Has wrought thy ruin : but to me the hand, 

In this, at least, shall equal force display, 

For equal was my love; and love will grant 
Sufficient strength the deadly wound to give. 

In death I’ll follow thee; with justice called 
Thy ruin’s wretched cause, — but comrade too. 
Thou, whom but death seemed capable to part 
From me, shalt find even death too weak will prove. 
Ye wretched mourning parents, his and mine ! 

The dying prayers respect of him, — of me : 

Grant that, entombed together, both may rest ; 

A pair by faithful love conjoined, — by death 
United close.’ ” 

— Ovid. 

So speaking, she destroys herself by falling upon 
her lover’s swcrd. 

This classical tale, celebrated in Ovid’s Meta- 


Py ramus and Thisbe 


37 


morphoses, has become even more widely known 
on account of the introduction into Shakespeare’s 
“ Midsummer-Night’s Dream ” of the “ most 
lamentable comedy of Py ramus and Thisbe.” It 
is truly “ lamentable ” that so tragical a fate 
should serve as the basis of a comedy — and 
such a comedy, — one of the most delicious bits 
of humor in all Shakespeare’s writing. 

Compare Thisbe’ s lament with the one pre- 
viously quoted: 

“ Asleep, my love ? 

What, dead, my dove? 

O Pyramus, arise! 

Speak, speak. Quite dumb? 

Dead, dead? a tomb 
Must cover thy sweet eyes. 

These lily lips, 

This cherry nose, 

These yellow cowslip cheeks, 

Are gone, are gone. 

Lovers, make moan ! 

His eyes were green as leeks, 

O Sisters Three, 

Come, come to me. 

With hands as pale as milk; 

Lay them in gore, 

Since you have shore 


38 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

With shears his thread of silk. 

Tongue, not a word: 

Come, trusty sword; 

Come, blade, my breast imbrue: 

And, farewell, friends ! 

Thus Thisby ends: 

Adieu, adieu, adieu ! ” 

A humorous poem by John G. Saxe is not as 
well known. In this connection it may be of 
interest as it follows the story closely. 

“ This tragical tale, which, they say, is a true one, 

Is old ; but the manner is wholly a new one. 

One Ovid, a writer of some reputation, 

Has told it before in a tedious narration; 

In a style, to be sure, of remarkable fullness, 

But which nobody reads on account of its dullness. 

“ Young Peter Pyramus — I call him Peter, 

Not for the sake of the rhyme or the metre, 

But merely to make the name completer; 

For Peter lived in the olden times, 

And in one of the worst of pagan climes 
That flourish now in classical fame, 

Long before either noble or boor 
Had such a thing as a Christian name, — 

Young Peter, then, was a nice young beau 
As any young lady would wish to know; 

In years, I ween, he was rather green, 

That is to say he was just eighteen, — 


Pyramus and Thisbe 


39 


A trifle too short, a shaving too lean, 

But ‘ a nice young man ’ as ever was seen, 

And fit to dance with a May-day queen ! 

“ Now Peter loved a beautiful girl 
As ever ensnared the heart of an earl 
In the magical trap of an auburn curl, — 

A little Miss Thisbe, who lived next door 
(They lived, in fact, on the very same floor, 

With a wall between them and nothing more, 
Those double dwellings were common of yore), 
And they loved each other, the legends say, 

In that very beautiful, bountiful way 
That every young maid and every young blade 
Are wont to do before they grow staid, 

And learn to love by the laws of trade. 

But (alackaday for the girl and boy!) 

A little impediment checked their joy, 

And gave them awhile the deepest annoy ; — 
For some good reason, which history cloaks, 
The match didn’t happen to please the old folks. 

“ So Thisbe’s father, and Peter’s mother 
Began the young couple to worry and bother, 
And tried their innocent passion to smother 
By keeping the lovers from seeing each other ! 
But who ever heard of a marriage deterred 
Or even deferred 

By any contrivance so very absurd 
As scolding the boy and caging the bird? 


40 


The True Lovers ’ Treasury 


Now Peter, who was not discouraged at all 
By obstacles such as the timid appall, 

Contrived to discover a hole in the wall, 

Which wasn’t so thick but removing a brick 
Made a passage, — though rather provokingly 
small. 

Through this little chink the lover could greet her, 
And secrecy made their courting the sweeter, 
While Peter kissed Thisbe, and Thisbe kissed 
Peter, — 

For kisses, like folks with diminutive souls, 

Will manage to creep through the smallest of holes ! 

“ ’Twas here that the lovers, intent upon love, 

Laid a nice little plot to meet at a spot 
Near a mulberry-tree in a neighboring grove; 

For the plan was all laid by the youth and the maid, 
Whose hearts, it would seem, were uncommonly 
bold ones, 

To run off and get married in spite of the old ones. 
In the shadows of evening, as still as a mouse, 

The beautiful maiden slipped out of the house, 
The mulberry-tree impatient to find; 

While Peter, the vigilant matrons to blind, 

Strolled leisurely out, some minutes behind. 

“ While waiting alone by the trysting tree, 

A terrible lion as e’er you set eye on 
Came roaring along quite horrid to see, 

And caused the young maiden in terror to flee 


Pyramus and Thisbe 


41 


(A lion’s a creature whose regular trade is 
Blood, — and ‘ a terrible thing among ladies ’), 
And losing her veil as she ran from the wood, 

The monster bedabbled it over with blood. 

“ Now Peter arriving, and seeing the veil 
All covered o’er and reeking with gore, 

Turned, all of a sudden, exceedingly pale, 

And sat himself down to weep and to wail; 

For, soon as he saw the garment, poor Peter 
Made up his mind in very short metre, 

That Thisbe was dead and the lion had eat her ! 
So, breathing a prayer, he determined to share 
The fate of his darling, ‘ the loved and the lost,’ 
And fell on his dagger, and gave up the ghost ! 

“ Now Thisbe returning, and viewing her beau 
Lying dead by her veil (which she happened to 
know), 

She guessed in a moment the cause of his erring ; 
And, seizing the knife that had taken his life, 

In less than a jiffy was dead as a herring.” 
























. 

. 










































































* » 












































































CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS. 


“ Trifles, light as air 
Are to the jealous confirmation strong 
As proofs of holy writ.” 


— Shakespeare. 


% 








CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS 


There is a celebrated picture in the National 
Gallery by Piero di Cosimo, which represents the 
“ Death of Procris,” that unfortunate wife who 
came to an unhappy end through jealousy. 
The picture is interpreted in a poem by 
“ Michael Field ” in a little volume entitled, 
“ Sight and Song.” 

“ Ah, foolish Procris ! — short and brown 
She lies upon the leafy, littoral plain ; 

Her scarlet cloak, her veil have both slipped down 
And rest 

Across her loins ; the naked feet are bound 
With sandals of dull gold, their thongs being wide 
And interlaced; the body’s swelling side 
Crushes the arm ; each sterile breast 
Is grey ; upon the throat there is a stain 
Of blood and on the hand along the ground. 

She gave no mortal cry, 

But voiceless and consumed by drouth, 

Far from the town she might not gain, 

Beside a river-mouth 
She dragged herself to die. 

45 


48 


The True Lovers ’ Treasury 


And gaze, while tide and bloom and bird 
Live on in their familiar ways, 

By mortal grief unstirred 
And never sad with it. 

“Yet autumn comes, there is the light 
Born of October’s lateness in the sky 
And on the sea-side ; leaves have taken flight 
From yon, 

Slim seedling-birch on the rivage, the flock 
Of herons has the quiet of solitude, 

That comes when chills on sunny air intrude; 

The little ships must soon be gone, 

And soon the pale and ruddy flowers shall die, 

Save the untransient plants that block 
Their green out, ebon-clear, 

Against the distance, while they drop, 

On hound and satyr settled nigh, 

Red tassels that shall stop 
Till windy snows appear.” 

In Shakespeare’s comedy of “ Py ramus and 
Thisbe ” reference is made to the fidelity of the 
lovers. 

Pyramus. “ Not Shafalus to Procrus was so 
true.” 

Thisbe. “ As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.” 

Aurora, the dawn goddess, loved Cephalus and 
hoped to win him from Procris. It was a habit 


Cephalus and Procris 


49 


of Cephalus when wearied with the chase to throw 
himself down on the sward and call upon the 
breeze to come and fan him gently. 

“ A hunter once in that grove reclin’d, 

To shun the noon’s bright eye, 

And oft he woo’d the wandering wind, 

To cool his brow with its sigh. 

While mute lay ev’n the wild bee’s hum, 

Nor breath could stir the aspen’s hair, 

His song was still, ‘ Sweet air, oh come ! ’ 

While Echo answer’d, 1 Come sweet air ! ’ ” 

Aurora was aware of this custom and by means 
of it aroused the suspicions of Procris, who con- 
cealed herself near her husband’s favorite resort, 
and supposing it was some maiden upon whom he 
was calling, swooned. Hearing something move 
in the bushes, Cephalus let fly an arrow. Too 
late he discovered that he had given a mortal 
wound to his beloved wife. 

Austin Dobson inspired by Cosimo’s picture 
has repeated the story, imparting to Ovid’s simple 
tale a delicacy and charm all his own. 

“ Procris the nymph had wedded Cephalus : 

He, till the spring had warmed to slow-winged 
days 


50 The True Lovers' Treasury 

Heavy with June, untired and amorous, 

Named her his love ; but now, in unknown ways, 
His heart was gone ; and evermore his gaze 
Turned from her own, and ever farther ranged 
His woodland war; while she, in dull amaze, 
Beholding with the hours her husband changed, 
Sighed for his lost caress, by some hard god 
estranged. 

“ So, on a day, she rose and found him not. 

Alone, with wet, sad eye, she watched the shade 
Brighten below a soft-rayed sun that shot 
Arrows of light through all the deep-leaved glade ; 
Then, with weak hands, she knotted up the braid 
Of her brown hair, and o’er her shoulders cast 
Her crimson weed; with faltering fingers made 
Her golden girdle’s clasp to join, and past 
Down to the trackless wood, full pale and over-cast. 

“ And all day long her slight spear devious flew, 

And harmless swerved her arrows from their aim, 
For ever, as the ivory bow she drew, 

Before her ran the still unwounded game. 

Then, at the last, a hunter’s cry there came, 

And, lo, a hart that panted with the chase; 

Thereat her cheek was lightened as with flame. 
And swift she gat her to a leafy place, 

Thinking, ‘ I yet may chance unseen to see his face.’ 

“ Leaping he went, this hunter Cephalus, 

Bent in his hand his cornel bow he bare, 


Cephalus and Procris 


51 


Supple he was, round-limbed and vigorous, 

Fleet as his dogs, a lean Laconian pair, 

He, when he spied the brown of Procris’ hair 
Move in the covert, deeming that apart 
Some fawn lay hidden, loosed an arrow there ; 

Nor cared to turn and seek the speeded dart, 
Bounding above the fern, fast following up the hart. 

“But Procris lay among the white wind-flowers, 

Shot in the throat. From out the little wound 
The slow blood drained, as drops in autumn 
showers 

Drip from the leaves upon the sodden ground. 
None saw her die but Lelaps, the swift hound, 

That watched her dumbly with a wistful fear, 

Till, at the dawn, the horned wood-men found 
And bore her gently on a sylvan bier, 

To lie beside the sea, — with many an uncouth tear.” 

The “ Death of Procris ” also forms the sub- 
ject of an interesting picture in the Dresden 
Gallery, attributed to Guercino. It was painted 
more than a century later than Cosimo’s pic- 
ture of the same name. In Cosimo’s picture, 
Procris lies at full length on the ground, 
wounded unto death. A satyr kneeling at her 
head is the only creature in attendance save a 
sorrowful- looking hound who watches close by. 


52 The True Lovers' Treasury 

The landscape background exhibits a number 
of strange animals and birds whose presence 
adds to the grotesqueness of the scene. Guer- 
cino’s picture, as will be seen by the accom- 
panying illustration, is more artistic in con- 
ception and modem in treatment. 


CUPID AND PSYCHE 


“ They wove bright fables in the days of old 

When reason borrowed fancy’s painted wings; 
When truth’s clear river flowed o’er sands of gold, 
And told in song its high and mystic things ! 

And such the sweet and solemn tale of her 

The pilgrim-heart, to whom a dream was given, 
That led her through the world, — Love’s wor- 
shipper 

To seek on earth for him whose home was 
heaven l ” 


— T. K. Hervey. 












CUPID AND PSYCHE 


The sweetest love story in mythology is that of 
“ Cupid and Psyche.” It first appeared in the 
“ Metamorphosis; or Golden Ass ” of Apuleius, 
a poet of the second century, and is considered the 
most beautiful portion of that famous work. The 
story has been paraphrased wholly or in part by 
Mrs. Mary Tighe — whose work Moore com- 
plimented in verse — Mrs. Browning, Thomas 
Moore, Walter Pater, and others. William Morris 
has given us a version of it in “ The Earthly 
Paradise,” and Keats has composed an “ Ode to 
Psyche,” for which Will Low made a design for a 
picture. 

The story as told by the poets is charming in 
every detail. 

In the Greek land of old there was a King 
Happy in battle, rich in everything; 

Most rich in this, that he a daughter had 
Whose beauty made the longing city glad. 

She was so fair, that strangers from the sea 
Just landed, in the temples thought that she 
55 


56 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

Was Venus visible to mortal eyes, 

New come from Cyprus for a world’s surprise. 

And Psyche is her name in stories old, 

As ever by our fathers we were told. 

“ All th:s beheld Queen Venus from her throne, 

And felt that she no longer was alone 
In beauty, but, if only for a while, 

This maiden matched her god-enticing smile; 
Therefore, she wrought in such a wise, that she, 

If honoured as a goddess, certainly 
Was dreaded as a goddess none the less, 

And midst her wealth, dwelt long in loneliness. 

Two sisters had she, and men deemed them fair, 
But as King’s daughters might be anywhere, 

And these to men of name and great estate 
Were wedded, while at home must Psyche wait. 
The sons of kings before her silver feet 
Still bowed, and sighed for her; in measures sweet 
The minstrels to the people sung her praise, 

Yet must she live a virgin all her days.” 

— William Morris. 

Venus in her jealousy commanded her son 
Cupid to prove to Psyche’s worshippers that she 
was mortal by slaying her. 

“ Here Cupid tempers his unerring darts, 

And in the fount of bliss delights to play ; 


Cupid and Psyche 


57 


Here mingles balmy sighs and pleasing smarts, 
And here the honeyed draught will oft allay 
With that black poison’s all polluting sway, 
For wretched man. Hither, as Venus willed, 
For Psyche’s punishment he bent his way: 
From either stream his amber vase he filled, 

For her were meant the drops which grief alone 
distilled. 


“ His quiver, sparkling bright with gems and gold, 
From his fair plumed shoulder graceful hung, 
And from its top in brilliant chords enrolled 
Each little vase, resplendently was slung: 

Still as he flew, around him sportive clung 
His frolic train of winged Zephyrs light, 

Wafting the fragrance which his tresses flung: 
While odors dropped from every ringlet bright, 
And from his blue eyes beamed ineffable delight. 


“ Wrapt in a cloud unseen by mortal eye, 

He sought the chamber of the royal maid; 
There, lulled by careless soft security, 

Of the impending mischief nought afraid, 
Upon her purple couch was Psyche laid; 

Her radiant eyes a downy slumber sealed ; 

In light transparent veil alone arrayed, 

Her bosom’s opening charms were half revealed, 
And scarce the lucid folds her polished limbs con- 
cealed. 


58 The True Lovers' Treasury 

“ A placid smile plays o’er each roseate lip, 

Sweet severed lips, while thus your pearls disclose, 
That slumbering thus unconscious she may sip 
The cruel presage of her future woes ! 

Lightly, as fall the dews upon the rose, 

Upon the coral gates of that sweet cell 
The fatal drops he pours ; nor yet he knows, 
Nor, though a God, can he presaging tell, 

How he himself shall mourn the ills of that sad spell ! 

“ Nor yet content, he from his quiver drew, 
Sharpened with skill divine, a shining dart : 

No need had he for bow, since thus too true 
His hand might wound her all exposed heart; 
Yet her fair side he touched with gentlest art, 
And half relenting on her beauties gazed; 

Just then awaking with a sudden start, 

Her opening eye in humid lustre blazed, 

Unseen he still remained, enchanted and amazed. 

“ The dart which in his hand now trembling stood, 
As o’er the couch he bent with ravished eye, 

Drew with its daring point celestial blood 
From his smooth neck’s unblemished ivory: 
Heedless of this, but with a pitying sigh, 

The evil done now anxious to repair, 

He shed in haste the balmy drops of joy 
O’er all the silky ringlets of her hair; 

Then stretched his plumes divine, and breathed 
celestial air.” — Mrs. Mary Tighe. 


Cupid and Psyche 


59 


Cupid, relenting at the sight of Psyche’s won- 
drous beauty, spared her; but was wounded in 
turn with his own arrow. Venus enraged at the 
failure of her plan determined that no youth 
should seek Psyche’s hand in marriage. Her 
parents, alarmed at Venus’ persecution of their 
daughter, consulted an oracle which directed that 
the maiden be left alone on the top of a mountain 
to meet her fate. 

“ So then was Psyche taken to the hill, 

And through the town the streets were void and 
still ; 

For in their houses all the people stayed, 

Of that most mournful music sore afraid. 

But on the way a marvel did they see, 

For, passing by, where wrought of ivory, 

There stood the Goddess of the flowery isle, 

All folk could see the carven image smile. 

But when anigh the hill’s bare top they came, 
Where Psyche must be left to meet her shame, 
They set the litter down, and drew aside 
The golden curtains from the wretched bride, 

Who at their bidding rose and with them went 
Afoot amidst her maids with head down-bent, 
Until they came unto the drear rock’s brow; 

And there she stood apart, not weeping now, 

But pale as privet blossom is in June. 

There as the quivering flutes left off their tune, 


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The True Lovers ’ Treasury 


In trembling arms the weeping, haggard King 
Caught Psyche, who, like some half-lifeless thing, 
Took all his kisses, and no word could say, 

Until at last perforce he turned away; 

Because the longest agony has end, 

And homeward through the twilight did they wend. 

“ But Psyche, now faint and bewildered, 
Remembered little of her pain and dread; 

Her doom drawn nigh took all her fear away, 

And left her faint and weary ; as they say 
It haps to one who ’neath a lion lies, 

Who stunned and helpless feels not ere he dies 

The horror of the yellow fell, the red 

Hot mouth, and white teeth gleaming o’er his head; 

So Psyche felt, as sinking on the ground 

She cast one weary vacant look around, 

And at the ending of that wretched day 
Swooning beneath the risen moon she lay.” 

— William Morris. 

Cupid had followed Psyche unseen by her, and 
he now called upon Zephyrus, the South Wind, to 
bear her to a distant isle. 

“ While Psyche wept upon the rock forsaken, 

Alone, despairing, dreading, — gradually 
By Zephyrus she was enwrapt and taken 
Still trembling, — like the lilies planted high, — 


Cupid and Psyche 6 1 

Through all her fair white limbs. Her vesture 
spread, 

Her very bosom eddying with surprise, — 

He drew her slowly from the mountain-head, 

And bore her down the valleys with wet eyes, 
And laid her in the lap of a green dell 
As soft with grass and flowers as any nest, 

With trees beside her, and a limpid well : 

Yet Love was not far off from all that Rest. ,, 

— Mrs. Browning. 

The gentle South Wind lifted Psyche and bore 
her swiftly through the air to the abode of Love, 
and there laid her tenderly on a flowery bank in 
the midst of an enchanted garden. 

“ Psyche, in those delicate grassy places, 
lying sweetly on her dewy bed, rested from the 
agitation of her soul and arose in peace. And 
lo ! a grove of mighty trees, with a fount of 
water, clear as glass, in the midst; and hard 
by the water, a dwelling-place, built not by 
human hands but by some divine cunning. 
One recognized, even at the entering, the de- 
lightful hostelry of a god. Golden pillars 
sustained the roof, arched most curiously in 
cedar- wood and ivory. The walls were hidden 
under wrought silver : — all tame and wood- 


62 The True Lovers' Treasury 

land creatures leaping forward to the visitor’s 
gaze. Wonderful indeed was the craftsman, 
divine or half-divine, who by the subtlety of 
his art had breathed so wild a soul into the 
silver I The very pavement was distinct with 
pictures in goodly stones. In the glow of its 
precious metal the house is its own daylight, 
having no need of the sun. Well might it seem 
a place fashioned for the conversation of gods 
with men ! ” 

— Walter Pater. 

Here Psyche dwelt happily for a time, waited 
upon by invisible attendants, and visited every 
night by Cupid. Finally, at her urgent entreaty, 
her sisters were allowed to spend a few hours with 
her, escorted thither by Zephyrus. The sisters, 
envious of Psyche’s luxurious surroundings, en- 
deavored to fill her mind with suspicions of her 
mysterious lover. 

11 They told her that he, to whose vows she had 
listen’d 

Through night’s fleeting hours, was a spirit 
unbless’d ; — 

Unholy the eys, that beside her had glisten’d, 

And evil the lips she in darkness had press’d. 


Cupid and Psyche 63 

“ ‘ When next in thy chamber the bridegroom re- 
clineth, 

Bring near him thy lamp, when in slumber he 
lies; 

And there, as the light o’er his dark features shineth, 
Thou ’ll see what a demon hath won all thy sighs ! ’ 

“Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, yet fearing, 
When calm lay the sleeper she stole with her 
light; 

And saw — such a vision ! — no image appearing 
To bards in their daydreams, was ever so bright. 

“ A youth, but just passing from childhood’s sweet 
morning, 

While round him still linger’d its innocent ray; 
Though gleams from beneath his shut eyelids gave 
warning 

Of summer-moon lightnings that under them lay. 

“ His brow had a grace more than mortal around it, 
While glossy as gold from a fairyland mine, 

His sunny hair hung, and the flowers that crown’d 
it 

Seemed fresh from the breeze of some garden 
divine. 

“ Entranced stood the bride, on that miracle gazing, 
What late was but love is idolatry now; 

But, ah — in her tremor the fatal lamp raising — 
A sparkle flew from it and dropp’d on his brow. 


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The True Lovers’ Treasury 


“All’s lost — with a start from his rosy sleep waking, 
The Spirit flash’d o’er her his glances of fire; 
Then slow from the clasp of her snowy arms 
breaking, 

Thus said, in a voice more of sorrow than ire: 

* Farewell — what a dream thy suspicion hath 

broken ! 

* Thus ever Affection’s fond vision is cross’d; 

‘ Dissolved are her spells when a doubt is but 
spoken, 

And love, once distrusted, forever is lost ! ’ ” 

— Thomas Moore . 

Cupid then left her to bitter repentance. She 
sought to drown herself, but the river god inter- 
vened. 

“ The gentle River, in her Cupid’s honor, 

Because he used to warn the very wave, 

Did ripple aside, instead of closing on her, 

And cast up Psyche, with a refluence brave, 
Upon the flowery bank, — all sad and sinning.” 

— Mrs. Browning. 

Wandering on she was finally advised by Ceres 
to enter the service of Venus, who set her to per- 
form the most arduous tasks, of which the last 


and most difficult required her to go to Hades to 
obtain a box of ointment from Proserpine. 

“ Then Psyche entered in to Proserpine 

In the dark house, and straightway did decline 
With meek denial the luxurious seat, 

The liberal board for welcome strangers spread, 
But sate down lowly at the dark queen’s feet, 

And told her tale, and brake her oaten bread. 
And when she had given the pyx in humble duty, 
And told how Venus did entreat the queen 
To fill it up with only one day’s beauty 
She used in Hades, star-bright and serene, 

To beautify the Cyprian, who had been 

All spoilt with grief in nursing her sick boy, — 
Then Proserpine, in malice and in joy, 

Smiled in the shade, and took the pyx, and put 
A secret in it ; and so, filled and shut, 

Gave it again to Psyche. Could she tell 
It held no beauty, but a dream of hell ? ” 

— Mrs. Browning. 


Having secured the box, Psyche went on her way 
rejoicing; in her pleasure at having accomplished 
the task so successfully, she decided to use a little 
of the precious contents of the box to repair the 
ravages made by her own sufferings. The box 
contained only the Spirit of sleep who overcame 


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The True Lovers' Treasury 


Psyche so that she fell by the way in a deep swoon ; 
and Cupid passing, noted her sad beauty and felt 
all its former charm. 


“ But at that sight out burst the smothered flame 
Of love, when he remembered all her shame, 

The stripes, the labour, and the wretched fear, 
And kneeling down he whispered in her ear, 

‘ Rise, Psyche, and be mine for evermore, 

For evil is long tarrying on this shore/ 

Then when she heard him, straightway she arose, 
And from her fell the burden of her woes ; 

And yet her heart within her well-nigh broke, 
When she from grief to happiness awoke; 

And loud her sobbing was in that grey place, 

And with sweet shame she covered up her face. 

And her dear hands, all wet with tears, he kissed, 
And taking them about each little wrist 
Drew them away, and in a sweet voice said, 

‘ Raise up again, O Psyche, that dear head, 

And of thy simpleness have no more shame; 

Thou hast been tried, and cast away all blame 
Into the sea of woes that thou didst bear, 

The bitter pain, the hopelessness, the fear — 
Holpen a little, loved with boundless love 
Amidst them all — but now the shadows move 
Fast toward the west, earth’s day is well-nigh done, 
One toil thou hast yet ; by to-morrow’s sun 
Kneel the last time before my mother’s feet, 


Cupid and Psyche ( 

Thy task accomplished ; and my heart, O sweet, 
Shall go with thee to ease thy toilsome way : 
Farewell awhile ! but that so glorious day 
I promised thee of old, now cometh fast, 

When even hope thy soul aside shall cast, 

Amidst the joy that thou shalt surely win.’ 

So saying, all that sleep he shut within 
The dreadful casket, and aloft he flew, 

But slowly she unto the cavern drew 
Scarce knowing if she dreamed, and so she came 
Unto the earth where yet the sun did flame 
Low down between the pine-trunks, tall and red, 
And with its last beams kissed her golden head.” 

— William Morris. 


The story of “ Cupid and Psyche ” has been 
told in art since the time of Raphael. The beauti- 
ful series in the Famesina Villa at Rome, attrib- 
uted to Raphael, was probably designed by him 
and executed by his pupils. The Venetians were 
among the earliest to paint the Greek goddess of 
love and her son. A painting by Belucci pictures 
Psyche as she stands gazing in astonishment upon 
the sleeping Cupid whom she had meant to kill. 
She grasps a dagger ready to strike in her right 
hand, and the lamp which she holds aloft sheds a 
strong light over the two exquisitely moulded 


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The True Lovers' Treasury 


figures. A modem painting by Burne-Jones 
exhibits the lovers in attitudes characteristic of 
that artist’s peculiar style, and is especially 
pleasing. 


PYGMALION AND GALATEA 

“ Like the Grecian, woos the image he himself has 
wrought.” 


— Prior . 






PYGMALION AND GALATEA 


One Pygmalion who was a sculptor wrought an 
ivory image of such exceeding beauty, that he 
went sighing day and night for love of his handi- 
work. About the statue’s neck he hung rich neck- 
laces, and brought her ornaments of gold as to a 
goddess. And on a day when festival was making 
unto great Venus, and through the streets in long 
procession was borne aloft the marble goddess he 
had made in days of old, he followed on until he 
stood before her altar ; and when the worshippers 
had placed the statue in her shrine, and gone re- 
joicing from the house of Love, he made such 
prayer that Venus’ self was moved to pity, and 
from her altar shot a tongue of flame that seemed 
to promise all he asked. Returning home in haste, 
he almost feared to seek the chamber where his 
goddess was enshrined, but stood without as in a 
dream until he heard a silvery voice calling, 
“ Pygmalion ! ” Then all his soul rushed forth to 
meet her, for he knew Venus had hearkened to 
his prayer. 


71 


72 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


“ Thus to his chamber at the last he came, 
And, pushing through the still half-opened door, 
He stood within ; but there, for very shame 
Of all the things that he had done before, 

Still kept his eyes bent down upon the floor, 
Thinking of all that he had done and said 
Since he had wrought that luckless marble maid. 

“ Yet soft his thoughts were, and the very place 
Seemed perfumed with some nameless heavenly 
air 

So gaining courage, did he raise his face 
Unto the work his hands had made so fair, 

And cried aloud to see the niche all bare 
Of that sweet form, while through his heart again 
There shot a pang of his old yearning pain. 

“ Yet while he stood, and knew not what to do 
With yearning, a strange thrill of hope there 
came, 

A shaft of new desire now pierced him through, 
And therewithal a soft voice called his name, 

And when he turned, with eager eyes aflame, 

He saw betwixt him and the setting sun 
The lively image of his loved one. 

“ He trembled at the sight, for though her eyes, 
As he had wrought them now was she arrayed 
Her very lips, were such as he had made, 

And though her tresses fell but in such guise 


Pygmalion and Galatea 


73 


In that fair garment that the priest had laid 
Upon the goddess on that very morn, 

Dyed like the setting sun upon the corn. 

“ Speechless he stood, but she now drew anear, 
Simple and sweet as she was wont to be, 

And once again her silver voice rang clear 
Filling his soul with great felicity, 

And thus she spoke, ‘ Wilt thou not come to me, 

O dear companion of my new-found life, 

For I am called thy lover and thy wife? 

“ ‘ Listen, these words the Dread One bade 
me say 

That was with me e’en now, Pygmalion , 

My new-made soul I give to thee to-day , 

Come , feel the sweet breath that thy prayer has won , 
And lay thine hand this heaving breast upon! 

Come love , and walk with me between the trees , 
And feel the freshness of the evening breeze. 

“ 1 Sweep mine hair round thy neck; behold my 

feet, 

The oft-kissed feet thou thought’st should never 
move , 

Press down the daisies! draw me to thee , sweet, 
And feel the warm heart of thy living love 
Beat against thine, and bless the Seed of Jove 
Whose loving tender heart hath wrought all this , 
And wrapped us both in such a cloud of bliss. 


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“ ‘ Ah, thou art wise to know what this may 
mean ! 

Sweet seem the words to me, and needs must I 
Speak all the lesson of the lovely Queen : 

But this I know, I would we were more nigh, 

I have not heard thy voice but in the cry 
Thou utteredst then, when thou believedst gone 
The marvel of thine hands, the maid of stone.’ 

“ She reached her hand to him, and with kind 
eyes 

Gazed into his ; but he the fingers caught 
And drew her to him, and midst ecstasies 
Passing all words, yea, well-nigh passing thought, 
Felt that sweet breath that he so long had sought, 
Felt the warm life within her heaving breast 
As in his arms his living love he pressed. 

“ But as his cheek touched hers he heard her 
say, 

‘ Wilt thou not speak, O love ? why dost thou weep ? 
Art thou then sorry for this long-wished day, 

Or dost thou think perchance thou wilt not keep 
This that thou holdest, but in dreamy sleep? 
Nay, let us do the bidding of the Queen, 

And hand in hand walk through thy garden green ; 

“ ‘ Then shalt thou tell me, still beholding me, 
Full many things whereof I wish to know, 

And as we walk from whispering tree to tree 


Pygmalion and Galatea 


75 


Still more familiar to thee shall I grow, 

And such things shalt thou say unto me now 
As when thou deemedst thou wast quite alone, 

A madman, kneeling to a thing of stone. ,,, 

“ But at that word a smile lit up his eyes 
And therewithal he spake some loving word, 

And she at first looked up in grave surprise 
When his deep voice and musical she heard, 

And clung to him as somewhat grown afeard; 
Then cried aloud and said, ‘ O mighty one ! 

What joy with thee to look upon the sun.* 

“ Then into that fair garden did they pass 
And all the story of his love he told, 

And as the twain went o’er the dewy grass, 
Beneath the risen moon could he behold 
The bright tears trickling down, then, waxen bold, 
He stopped and said, 1 Ah, love, what meaneth 
this ? 

Seest thou how tears still follow earthly bliss? ’ 

“ Then both her white arms round his neck she 
threw, 

And sobbing said, ‘ O love, what hurteth me ? 
When first the sweetness of my life I knew, 

Not this I felt, but when I first saw thee 
A little pain and great felicity 
Rose up within me, and thy talk e’en now 
Made pain and pleasure ever greater grow? ’ 


76 The True Lovers' Treasury 

“ ‘ O sweet/ he said, ‘ this thing is even love, 
Whereof I told thee; that all wise men fear, 
But yet escape not ; nay, to gods above, 

Unless the old tales lie, it draweth near. 

But let my happy ears I pray thee hear 
Thy story too, and how thy blessed birth 
Has made a heaven of this once lonely earth. * 

“ ‘ My sweet/ she said, 1 as yet I am not wise, 
Or stored with words, aright the tale to tell, 

But listen : when I opened first mine eyes 
I stood within the niche thou knowest well, 

And from mine hand a heavy thing there fell 
Carved like these flowers, nor could I see things 
clear, 

And but a strange confused noise could hear. 

“ * At last mine eyes could see a woman fair, 
But awful as this round white moon o’erhead, 

So that I trembled when I saw her there, 

For with my life was born some touch of dread, 
And therewithal I heard her voice that said, 

“ Come down, and learn to love and be alive, 

For thee, a well-prized gift, to-day I give.” 

“ 1 Then on the floor I stepped, rejoicing much, 
Not knowing why, not knowing aught at all, 

Till she reached out her hand my breast to touch, 
And when her fingers thereupon did fall, 
Thought came unto my life, and therewithal 


Pygmalion and Galatea 


77 


I knew her for a goddess, and began 
To murmur in some tongue unknown to man. 

" 1 And then indeed not in this guise was I, 

No sandals had I, and no saffron gown, 

But naked as thou knowest utterly, 

E’en as my limbs beneath thine hand had grown, 
And this fair perfumed robe then fell adown 
Over the goddess’ feet and swept the ground, 

And round her loins a glittering belt was bound. 

“ ‘ But when the stammering of my tongue she 
heard 

Upon my trembling lips her hand she laid, 

And spoke again, “ Nay, say not any word, 

All that thine heart would say I know unsaid, 

Who even now thine heart and voice have made ; 
But listen rather, for thou knowest now 
What these words mean, and still wilt wiser grow. 

“ * “ Thy body, lifeless till I gave it life, 

A certain man, my servant, well hath wrought, 

I give thee to him as his love and wife, 

With all thy dowry of desire and thought, 

Since this his yearning heart hath ever sought; 
Now from my temple is he on the way, 

Deeming to find thee e’en as yesterday; 

u 1 “ Bide thou his coming by the bed-head there, 
And when thou seest him set his eyes upon 


78 The True Lovers' Treasury 

Thine empty niche, and hear’st him cry for care, 
Then call him by his name, Pygmalion, 

And certainly thy lover hast thou won; 

But when he stands before thee silently, 

Say all these words that I shall teach to thee.” 

“ ‘ With that she said what first I told thee 
love, 

And then went on, “ Moreover thou shalt say 
That I, the daughter of almighty Jove, 

Have wrought for him this long-desired day; 

In sign whereof, these things that pass away, 
Wherein mine image men have well arrayed, 

I give thee for thy wedding gear, O maid ! ” 

“ ‘ Therewith her raiment she put off from her, 
And laid bare all her perfect loveliness, 

And, smiling on me, came yet more anear, 

And on my mortal lips her lips did press, 

And said, “ Now herewith shalt thou love no less 
Than Psyche loved my son in days of old; 
Farewell, of thee shall many a tale be told.” 

“ ‘ And even with that last word was she gone, 
How, I know not, and I my limbs arrayed 
In her fair gifts, and waited thee alone — 

Ah, love, indeed the word is true she said, 

For now I love thee so, I grow afraid 
Of what the gods upon our heads may send — 

I love thee so, I think upon the end/ 


Pygmalion and Galatea 


79 


“ What words he said? How can I tell again 
What words they said beneath the glimmering 
light, 

Some tongue they used unknown to loveless men 
As each to each they told their great delight, 
Until for stillness of the growing night 
Their soft sweet murmuring words seemed growing 
loud, 

And dim the moon grew, hid by fleecy cloud.” 

— William Morris. 

Thus, in “ The Earthly Paradise,” has 
William Morris recast the old fable of “ Pyg- 
malion and the Image,” of which the closing 
scene is given here. 

In the Greek Mythology we find many stories 
related of lovers befriended by Venus. The 
goddess of love and beauty was believed by the 
ancients to be all-powerful in affairs of the heart ; 
and in the story of Pygmalion and Galatea the 
birth of a soul through love was recognized as 
the highest expression of her power. The 
story has been modernized and made familiar 
to play goers through the medium of Mr. 
W. S. Gilbert’s successful comedy, “ Pygmalion 
and Galatea.” 







* 


I 






















ULYSSES AND PENELOPE 


Man’s love is of man’s life a thing apart, 
’Tis woman’s whole existence.” 


— Lord Byron. 




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ULYSSES AND PENELOPE 
As Helen stands for the type of woman whose 

c 

affections are unstable, whose love may be given 
with equal readiness to one suitor or to another, 
so Penelope represents the opposite type, the 
woman who is mistress of her affections and loyal 
to her husband. Penelope is the home keeper; 
while her liege lord wanders from place to place 
in search of adventure she waits patiei/ly for his 
return. She looks unmoved upon the suitors who 
throng her palace; and when they will take no 
further denial, resorts to trickery to gain time. 
She announces that she will make her choice 
when the web which she is preparing as a funeral 
canopy for her husband’s father shall be finished. 

“‘Ye peers (I cry), who press to gain a heart, 

Where dead Ulysses claims no future part; 

Rebate your loves, each rival suit suspend, 

Till this funereal web my labors end : 

Cease, till to good Laertes I bequeath 
A pall of state, the ornament of death. 

For when to fate he bows, each Grecian dame 
83 


84 The True Lovers' Treasury 

With just reproach were licensed to defame, 

Should he, long honor’d in supreme command, 
Want the last duties of a daughter’s hand.’ 

The fiction pleased ; their loves I long elude ; 

The night still ravell’d what the day renew’d : 
Three years successful in my heart conceal’d, 

My ineffectual fraud the fourth reveal’d: 
Befriended by my own domestic spies, 

The woof un wrought the suitor-train surprise. ,, 

— Odyssey ( Pope's tr.). 

This device failing, Penelope inspired by 
Pallas, determines upon a trial of strength and 
skill : 

“ Who can bend Ulysses’ bow and wing 
The well-aim ’d arrow through the distant ring, 
Shall end the strife, and win the imperial dame: ” 


Now gently winding up the fair ascent, 

By many an easy step the matron went; 

Then o’er the pavement glides with grace divine 
(With polish’d oak the level pavements shine)-; 
The folding gates a dazzling light display’d, 
With pomp of various architrave o’erlaid. 

The bolt, obedient to the silken string, 

Forsakes the staple as she pulls the ring; 

The wards respondent to the key turn round; 
The bars fall back ; the flying valves resound ; 
Loud as a bull makes hill and valley ring, 


Ulysses and Penelope 


85 


So roar’d the lock when it released the spring. 

She moves majestic through the wealthy room, 
Where treasured garments cast a rich perfume; 
There from the column where aloft it hung, 
Reach’d, in its splendid case, the bow unstrung 
Across her knees she laid the well-known bow, 
And pensive sate, and tears began to flow. 

To full satiety of grief she mourns, 

Then silent to the joyous hall returns, 

To the proud suitors bears in pensive state 
The unbended bow, and arrows winged with fate. 

Behind, her train the polish’d coffer brings, 
Which held the alternate brass and silver rings. 
Full in the portal the chaste queen appears, 

And with her veil conceals the coming tears. 

On either side awaits a virgin fair; 

While thus the matron, with majestic air: 

1 Say you, whom these forbidden walls inclose, 
For whom my victims bleed, my vintage flows: 

If these neglected faded charms can move? 

Or is it but a vain pretence, you love? 

If I the prize, if me you seek to wife, 

Hear the conditions, and commence the strife. 
Who first Ulysses’ wondrous bow shall bend, 

And through twelve ringlets the fleet arrow send; 
Him will I follow, and forsake my home, 

For him forsake this loved, this wealthy dome, 
Long, long the scene of all my past delight, 

And still to last, the vision of my night ! ’ ” 

— Odyssey (Pope's tr.). 


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The suitors make the attempt, but are unable 
to draw the bow. Then the disguised Ulysses 
begs leave to try, and sends an arrow straight 
through the rings. 

“ So the great master drew the mighty bow, 

And drew with ease. One hand aloft display’d 
The bending horns, and one the string essay’d. 
From his essaying hand the string, let fly, 

Twang’d short and sharp like the shrill swallow’scry. 
A general horror ran through all the race, 

Sunk was each heart, and pale was every face. 
Signs from above ensued: the unfolding sky 
In lightning burst; Jove thunder’d from on high. 
Fired at the call of heaven’s almighty Lord, 

He snatch’d the shaft that glitter’d on the board 
(Fast by, the rest lay sleeping in the sheath, 

But soon to fly, the messengers of death). 

Now sitting as he was, the cord he drew, 
Through every ringlet levelling his view: 

Then notch’d the shaft, released, and gave it wing 
The whizzing arrow vanish’d from the string, 
Sung on direct, and threaded every ring.” 

— Odyssey (Pope’s tr.). 

Ulysses throws off his disguise, turns upon the 
suitors, and ably seconded by his son Telemachus, 
slays them all, save only two for whom Telemachus 
intercedes. 


Ulysses and Penelope 


87 


“ Stript of his rags then leapt the godlike king 
On the great threshold, in his hand the bow 
And quiver, filled with arrows of mortal sting. 
These with a rattle he rained down below, 

Loose at his feet, and spake among them so : 

‘ See, at the last our matchless bout is o’er ! 

Now for another mark, that I may know 
If I can hit what none hath hit before, 

And if Apollo hear me in the prayers I pour ! ’ ” 
— Odyssey ( Worsley’s tr.). 

Penelope, after proof of her lord’s identity is 
fully established, receives him joyfully, and makes 
known to him the suffering and humiliation she 
has endured at the hands of the suitors; and in 
turn Ulysses relates the story of his wanderings. 

“ She told him of the scorn and wrong 
She long had suffered in her house, 

From the detested suitor throng, 

Each wooing her to be his spouse. 

How, for their feasts, her sheep and kine 
Were slaughtered, while they quaffed her wine 
In plentiful carouse. 

“ And he, the noble wanderer, spoke 
Of many a deed of peril sore — 

Of men who fell beneath his stroke — 

Of all the sorrowing tasks he bore. 


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She listened, with delighted ear. 

Sleep never came her eyelids near 
Till all the tale was o’er. 

“ First told he how the Cicones 

He had subdued with valiant hand, 
And how he reached across the seas, 
The Lotus-eaters’ lovely land; 

The crimes by Polyphemus done, 

And of the well-earned vengeance won, 
For slaughter of his band. 

“ Vengeance for gallant comrades slain, 
And by the Cyclops made a prey; 
And how it was his lot to gain 
The isle where ALolus holds sway; 
And how the Monarch of the wind 
Received him with a welcome kind, 

And would have sent away, 

“ Home to his native isle to sail ; 

But vainly against fate he strove, 

By whom unroused a desperate gale 
Over the fishy ocean drove, 

And sent him wandering once again, 

The toils and dangers of the main 
With many a groan to prove. 

“ And how he wandered to the coast 
Where dwells the distant Laestrygon; 


Ulysses and Penelope 


89 


How there his ships and friends he lost, 
Escaping in his bark alone ; 

He spoke of Circe’s magic guile, 

And told the art and deep-skilled wile 
By the enchantress shown. 

“ Then how to Hades’ grisly hall 
He went to seek the Theban seer, 

In his swift ship; how there with all 
The partners of his long career 
He met; and how his mother mild 
Who bore, and reared him from a child, 

He saw while wandering there. 

“ And how the dangerous strain he heard, 
Sung by the Sirens’ thrilling tongue; 

And how with dexterous skill he steered 
His course the justling rocks among; 
How he, what none had done before, 
Unscathed through dread Charybdis bore, 
And Scylla sailed along. 

“ And how the oxen of the sun 

With impious hand his comrades slew; 
And how high-thundering Jove upon 
Their flying bark his lightning threw, 
Till by the bolt, of life bereft, 

Perished his friends, he only left 
Remaining of the crew. 


90 The True Lovers' Treasury 

“ And how, in the Ogygian isle, 

He visited Calypso fair; 

And how she sought with many a wile, 
To keep him still sojourning there: 
With fond desire ’twas hers to crave, 
That he, within her hollow cave, 

Her nuptial bed should share. 


“ Each hospitable art she tried, 

His heart to win — his hopes to soothe; 
She promised him, were she his bride, 
Immortal life and ceaseless youth. 

But all her promise, all her art, 

Changed not the temper of his heart, 

Nor shook his steadfast truth. 


“ How, after many a year of toil, 

When on Phaeacian land he trod, 

The king and people of the isle 
Hailed him with honors of a god; 

And sent him full of presents fair, 

Of gold, and brass, and garments rare, 

Back to his own abode. 

“ So closed the tale. Then balmy sleep, 

The healer of all human woes, 

Did their relaxing members steep 
In soft oblivion of repose.” 

— Odyssey (Maginn's tr.). 


Ulysses and Penelope 


91 


Penelope does not enjoy Ulysses’ society for 
long before the old “ wander- lust ” seizes him, 
and he calls upon his friends and comrades to 
accompany him once more in search of new 
adventures. 


“ Come my friends, 

’Tis not too late to seek a newer world. 

Push off, and sitting well in order smite 
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds 
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 
Of all the western stars, until I die. 

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down ; 

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, 

And see the great Achilles whom we knew. 

Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’ 

We are not now that strength which in old days 
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we 
are; 

One equal temper of heroic hearts, 

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.” 

— T ennyson. 


The story of Ulysses has been told over and 
over again since Homer sung his praises in the 
Odyssey. Translation after translation has ap- 


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The True Lovers' Treasury 


peared in both prose and verse ; the separate epi- 
sodes have been made the subject of short poems, 
and have inspired painters and sculptors to do 
some of their best work. 




HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE 

“ The parting of a husband and a wife 
Is like the cleaving of a heart; one half 
Will flutter here, one there. ,, 


— T ennyson. 














HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE 


If one were asked to select the truest and 
worthiest pair of lovers from among those men- 
tioned by Homer, he would unhesitatingly speak 
the names of Hector and Andromache. Who does 
not recall that last touching meeting of the noble 
husband and wife, immediately preceding the 
going forth of the valiant Hector to do battle with 
the Greeks — that scene which has been many 
times repeated in marble and on canvas ! 

Mrs. Browning’s beautiful paraphrase is most 
sympathetic, showing at once the womanliness of 
Andromache and the manliness of Hector. 

“ She rushed to meet him : the nurse following 
Bore on her bosom the unsaddened child, 

A simple babe, prince Hector’s well loved son, 
Like a star shining when the world is dark. 
Scamandrius, Hector called him, but the rest 
Named him Astyanax, the city’s prince, 

Because that Hector only, had saved Troy. 

He, when he saw his son, smiled silently : 

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The True Lovers’ Treasury 


96 

While, dropping tears, Andromache pressed on, 
And clung to his hand, and spake, and named his 
name. 

“ ‘ Hector, my best one, — thine own nobleness 
Must needs undo thee. Pity hast thou none 
For this young child, and this most sad myself, 
Who soon shall be thy widow — since that soon 
The Greeks will slay thee in the general rush — 
And then, for me, what refuge, reft of thee, 

But to go graveward? Then, no comfort more 
Shall touch me, as in the old sad times thou 
know’st — 

Grief only — grief ! I have no father now, 

No mother mild! Achilles the divine. 

He slew my father, sacked his lofty Thebes, 
Cilicia’s populous city, and slew its king, 

Eetion — father, did not spoil the corse, 

Because the Greek revered him in his soul, 

But burnt the body with its daedal arms, 

And poured the dust out gently. Round that tomb 
The Oreads, daughters of the goat-nursed Zeus, 
Tripped in a ring, and planted their green elms, 
There were seven brothers with me in the house, 
Who all went down to Hades in one day, — 

For he slew all, Achilles the divine, 

Famed for his swift feet, — slain among their herds 
Of cloven-footed bulls and flocking sheep ! 

My mother too, who queened it o’er the woods 
Of Hippoplacia, he, with other spoil, 


Hector and Andromache 


97 

Seized, — and, for golden ransom, freed too late, — 
Since, as she went home, arrowy Artemis 
Met her and slew her at my father’s door. 

But — oh, my Hector, — thou art still to me 
Father and mother ! — yes, and brother dear, 

0 thou, who art my sweetest spouse beside ! 

Come, now, and take me into pity ! Stay 

I’ the town here with us ! Do not make thy child 
An orphan, nor a widow, thy poor wife ! 

Call up the people to the fig-tree, where 
The city is most accessible, the wall 
Most easy of assault ! — for thrice thereby 
The boldest Greeks have mounted to the breach, — 
Both Ajaxes, the famed Idomeneus 
Two sons of Atreus, and the noble one 
Of Tydeus, — whether taught by some wise seer, 
Or by their own souls prompted and inspired.’ 

“ Great Hector answered : — 1 Lady, for these things 
It is my part to care, And I fear the most 
My Trojans, and their daughters, and their wives, 
Who through their long veils would glance scorn at 
me, 

If, coward-like, I shunned the open war. 

Nor doth my own soul prompt me to that end ! 

1 learnt to be a brave man constantly, 

And to fight foremost where my Trojans fight, 
And vindicate my father’s glory and mine — 
Because I know, by instinct and my soul, 

The day comes that our sacred Troy must fall, 


)8 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

And Priam and his people. Knowing which, 

I have no such grief for all my Trojan’s sake, 

For Hecuba’s, for Priam’s, our old king. 

Not for my brothers’, who so many and brave 
Shall bite the dust before our enemies, — 

As, sweet, for thee! — to think some mailed Greek 
Shall lead thee weeping and deprive thy life 
Of the free sun-sight — that, when gone away 
To Argos, thou shalt throw the distaff there 
Not for thy uses — or shalt carry instead 
Upon thy loathing brow, as heavy a doom, 

The water of Greek wells — Messeis’ own, 

Or Hyperea’s ! — that some stander-by, 

Marking thy tears fall, shall say, “ This is she, 
The wife of that same Hector who fought best 
Of all the Trojans, when all fought for Troy — ” 
Ay ! — and, so speaking, shall renew thy pang 
That, reft of him so named, thou shouldst survive 
To a slave’s life ! But earth shall hide my corse 
Ere that shriek sound, wherewith thou art dragged 
from Troy.’ 

“ Thus Hector spake, and stretched his arms to his 
child. 

Against the nurse’s breast, with childly cry, 

The boy clung back, and shunned his father’s face. 
And feared the glittering brass and waving hair 
Of the high helmet, nodding horror down. 

The father smiled, the mother could not choose 
But smile too. Then he lifted from his brow 


Hector and Andromache 


99 


The helm, and set it on the ground to shine : 

Then, kissed his dear child — raised him with 
both arms, 

And thus invoked Zeus and the general gods : — 

“ ‘ Zeus, and all godships ! grant this boy of mine 
To be the Trojan’s help, as I myself, — •. 

To live a brave life and rule well in Troy ! 

Till men shall say, “ The son exceeds the sire 
By a far glory.” Let him bring home spoil 
Heroic, and make glad his mother’s heart.’ 

“ With which prayer, to his wife’s extended arms 
He gave the child; and she received him straight 
To her bosom’s fragrance — smiling up her tears. 
Hector gazed on her till his soul was moved; 
Then softly touched her with his hand and spake. 
1 My best one — ’ware of passion and excess 
In any fear. There’s no man in the world 
Can send me to the grave apart from fate, — 

And no man . . . Sweet, I tell thee . . . can fly 
fate — 

No good nor bad man. Doom is self-fulfilled. 
But now, go home, and ply thy woman’s task 
Of wheel and distaff ! bid thy maidens haste 
Their occupation. War’s a care for men — 

For all men born in Troy, and chief for me.’ 

“ Thus spake the noble Hector, and resumed 
His crested helmet, while his spouse went home; 


IOO The True Lovers' Treasury 

But as she went, still looked back lovingly, 

Dropping the tears from her reverted face.” 

— Mrs. Browning. 

Andromache awaits most anxiously the result 
of the battle. With her maidens about her she 
makes preparation for Hector’s comfort when he 
shall return. The noise of the fighting reaches 
even to the inmost room of her well ordered man- 
sion; and accompanied by two of her maids she 
rushes forth, and from the city wall beholds the 
dreadful tragedy of Hector’s downfall. 

“ Soon arriving at the tower, 

And at the throng of men, awhile she stood 
Down-looking wistful from the city-wall, 

And, seeing him in front of Ilium, dragg’d 
So cruelly toward the fleet of Greece, 

O’erwhelm’d with sudden darkness at the view 
Fell backward, with a sigh heard all around. 

Far distant flew dispersed her head-attire, 

Twist, frontlet, diadem, and even the veil 
By golden Venus given her on the day 
When Hector led her from Eetion’s house 
Enrich’d with nuptial presents to his home. 

Around her throng’d her sisters of the house 
Of Priam, numerous, who within their arms 
Fast held her loathing life; but she, her breath 


Hector and Andromache 


IOI 


At length and sense recovering, her complaint 
Broken with sighs amid them thus began. 

‘ Hector ! I am undone ; we both were born 
To misery, thou in Priam’s house in Troy, 
And I in Hypoplacian Thebes wood-crown ’d 
Beneath Eetion’s roof. He, doom’d himself 
To sorrow, me more sorrowfully doom’d, 
Sustain’d in helpless infancy, whom oh 
That he had ne’er begotten ! thou descend’st 
To Pluto’s subterraneous dwelling drear, 
Leaving myself destitute, and thy boy, 

Fruit of our hapless loves, an infant yet, 

Never to be hereafter thy delight, 

Nor love of thine to share or kindness more. 
For should he safe survive this cruel war, 

With the Achaians penury and toil 
Must be his lot, since strangers will remove 
At will his landmarks, and possess his fields. 
Thee lost, he loses all, of father, both, 

And equal playmate in one day deprived, 

To sad looks doom’d, and never-ceasing tears. 
He seeks necessitous his father’s friends, 

One by his mantle pulls, one by his vest, 
Whose utmost pity yields to his parch’d lips 
A thirst-provoking drop, and grudges more; 
Some happier child, as yet untaught to mourn 
A parent’s loss, shoves rudely from the board 
My son, and smiting him, reproachful cries — 
Away — Thy father is no guest of ours — 
Then, weeping, to his widow’d mother comes 


102 The True Lovers' Treasury 

Astyanax, who on his father’s lap 
Ate marrow only, once, and fat of lambs, 

And when sleep took him, and his crying fit 
Had ceased, slept ever on the softest bed, 

Warm in his nurse’s arms, fed to his fill 
With delicacies, and his heart at rest. 

But now, Astyanax (so named in Troy 

For thy sake, guardian of her gates and towers) 

His father lost, must many a pang endure. 

And as for thee, cast naked forth among 
Yon galleys, where no parent’s eye of thine 
Shall find thee, when the dogs have torn thee once 
Till they are sated, worms shall eat thee next. 
Meantime, thy graceful raiment rich, prepared 
By our own maidens, in thy palace lies; 

But I will burn it, burn it all, because 
Useless to thee, who never, so adorn’d, 

Shalt slumber more; yet every eye in Troy 
Shalt see, how glorious once was thy attire.’ 

So, weeping, she; to whom the multitude 
Of Trojan dames responsive sigh’d around.” 

— Iliad ( Cowper's tr .). 


“CYMON AND IPHIGENIA 


“ Praise be thine ! 

I see the whole design, 

I, who saw power, see now love perfect too. 

Perfect I call Thy plan: 

Thanks that I was a man ! 

Maker, remake, complete, — I trust what thou 
shalt do ! ” 


— Robert Browning. 












• 































CYMON AND IPHIGENIA 


The power of love to ennoble and refine is no- 
where shown more perfectly than in the old story 
of “ Cymon and Iphigenia.” The Decameron is 
responsible for the first complete rendering of the 
tale; although Boccaccio is supposed by some 
critics to have based his account upon an idyl of 
Theocritus. Boccaccio does not claim that he 
originated the idea, but that he found it in the 
ancient histories of Cyprus. Dryden has imitated 
it in verse, altering the story by representing 
Iphigenia as reciprocating Cymon’ s love. 

The most celebrated paintings of Cymon and 
Iphigenia were made by Sir Joshua Reynolds and 
Sir Frederick Leighton. The first mentioned is 
in Buckingham Palace, and the latter is owned by 
the Fine Arts Society, in London. The following 
lines from the Decameron contain a description of 
the scene as painted by these artists. 

“ According to the ancient histories of Cyprus, 
there lived sometime in that island, one of great 
105 


106 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

rank and distinction, called Aristippus, who was 
the wealthiest person in all the country. If he 
was unhappy in any one respect, it was in having, 
amongst his other children, a son, who, though he 
exceeded most young people of his age in stature 
and comeliness, yet was a perfect idiot. ... He was, 
by way of disdain, called only Cymon ; which, in 
their language, signified beast . The father had 
long beheld him with infinite vexation, and as all 
hopes were vanished concerning him, to remove 
out of his sight an object which afforded constant 
matter of grief, he ordered him away to his 
country-house to be there with his slaves. This 
was extremely agreeable to Cymon, because peo- 
ple of that sort had always been most to his mind. 
Residing there, and doing all sorts of drudgery 
pertaining to that kind of life, it happened one 
day, as he was going, about noon-tide, with his 
staff upon his shoulder, from one farm to another, 
that he passed through a pleasant grove, which, 
as it was then the month of May, was all in bloom. 
Thence, as his stars led him, he came into a 
meadow surrounded by high trees, in one comer 
of which was a crystal spring, and by the side of it, 
upon the grass, lay a most beautiful damsel asleep, 
clothed with a mantle so exceedingly fine and 


Cymon and Iphigenia 


107 


delicate, as scarcely to conceal the exquisite 
whiteness of her skin , only from her waist down- 
wards she wore a white silken quilt, and at her 
feet were sleeping two women and a man-servant. 

As soon as Cymon cast his eyes upon her, he 
stood leaning upon his staff as if he had never 
seen the face of a woman before, and began to 
gaze with the utmost astonishment without speak- 
ing a word. Presently, in his rude, uncivilized 
breast, which had hitherto been incapable of re- 
ceiving the least sense of good breeding whatever, 
a sudden thought arose, which seemed to intimate 
to his gross and shallow understanding that this 
was the most agreeable sight that ever was seen.” 

— Boccaccio. 

Cymon’s regeneration was now begun; the 
purifying sun of love shone into his soul, and 
from that moment he longed to be a man. 

“ So reason in his brutal soul began, 

Love made him first suspect he was a man ; 

Love made him doubt his broad barbarian sound; 

By love his want of words and wit he found ; 

That sense of want prepared the future way 

To knowledge, and disclosed the promise of a day. 

What not his father’s care, nor tutor’s art, 


108 The True Lovers' Treasury 

Could plant with pains in his unpolished heart, 
The best instructor, Love, at once inspired, 

As barren grounds to fruitfulness are fired: 

Love taught him shame, and shame, with love at 
strife, 

Soon taught the sweet civilities of life ; 

His gross material soul at once could find 
Somewhat in her excelling all her kind : 

Exciting a desire till then unknown, 

Somewhat unfound, or found in her alone. 


He would have waked her, but restrained his 
thought, 

And love new-born the first good manners taught. 
An awful fear his ardent wish withstood, 

Nor durst disturb the goddess of the wood. 

For such she seemed by her celestial face, 

Excelling all the rest of human race : 

And things divine, by common sense he knew, 
Must be devoutly seen, at distant view : 

So checking his desire, with trembling heart 
Gazing he stood, nor would, nor could depart; 
Fixed as a pilgrim wildered in his way, 

Who dares not stir by night, for fear to stray, 

But stands with awful eyes to watch the dawn of day. 

At length awaking, Iphigene the fair 
(So was the beauty called, who caused his care) 
Unclosed her eyes, and double day revealed, 

While those of all her slaves in sleep were sealed. 
The slavering cudden, propped upon his staff, 


Cymon and Iphigenia 109 

Stood ready gaping with a grinning laugh, 

To welcome her awake, nor durst begin 
To speak, but wisely kept the fool within. 

Then she : ‘ What makes you, Cymon, here alone ? ’ 
(For Cymon ’s name was round the country known, 
Because descended of a noble race, 

And for a soul ill sorted with his face.) 

Then Cymon first his rustic voice essayed, 

With proffered service to the parting maid 
To see her safe; his hand she long denied, 

But took at length, ashamed of such a guide. 

So Cymon led her home, and leaving there, 

No more would to his country clowns repair, 

But sought his father’s house, with better mind, 
Refusing in the farm to be confined. 

The father wondered at the son’s return, 

And knew not whether to rejoice or mourn ; 

But doubtfully received, expecting still 
To learn the secret causes of his altered will. 

Nor was he long delayed : the first request 
He made, was like his brothers to be dressed. 

And, as his birth required, above the rest. 

With ease his suit was granted by his sire, 
Distinguishing his heir by rich attire: 

His body thus adorned, he next designed 
With liberal arts to cultivate his mind : 

He sought a tutor of his own accord, 

And studied lessons he before abhorred. 

Thus the man-child advanced, and learned so fast, 


IIO The True Lovers' Treasury 

That in short time his equals he surpassed : 

His brutal manners from his breast exiled, 

His mien he fashioned, and his tongue he filed ; 

In every exercise of all admired, 

He seemed, nor only seemed, but was inspired: 
Inspired by love, whose business is to please ; 

He rode, he fenced, he moved with graceful ease, 
More famed for sense, for courtly carriage more, 
Than for his brutal folly known before. 

What then of altered Cymon shall we say, 

But that the fire which choked in ashes lay, 

A load too heavy for his soul to move, 

Was upward blown below, and brushed away by 
love. 

Love made an active progress through his mind, 
The dusky parts he cleared, the gross refined, 

The drowsy waked ; and, as he went, impressed 
The Maker’s image on the human breast.” 

— Dryden. 


“ LISA 


Reader, this story pleased me long ago 
In the bright pages of Boccaccio, 

And where the author of a good we know, 

Let us not fail to pay the grateful thanks we owe.” 

— George Eliot. 






































LISA 


The pathetic tale of Lisa has been told by 
George Eliot in “ How Lisa Loved the King.” 
She does not claim to have originated the story, 
but frankly tells us that she found it in the pages 
of Boccaccio. 

Lisa, a romantic little maiden, daughter of 
Bernardo, a rich Florentine, cherished an ideal of 
perfect manhood, upon whom she should bestow 
her gift of love. 

“ She had but dreamed how heavenly it would be 
To love some hero noble, beauteous, great, 

Who would live stories worthy to narrate, 

Like Roland, or the warriors of Troy, 

The Cid, or Amadis, or that fair boy 
Who conquered everything beneath the sun, 

And somehow, some time, died at Babylon 
Fighting the Moors.” 


From a window Lisa beheld King Pedro, newly 
come into his possessions in Sicily, performing 
”3 


1 14 The True Lovers' Treasury 

feats of valor among his barons, and her whole 
soul went out to him. She confided in no one, 
and the king remained enshrined in her heart until 
the burden became too great to be borne and it 
was feared that she would die. She had only one 
desire, and that was that King Pedro might know 
of her love before she passed quite out of his life. 
She requested that the king’s minstrel Minuccio 
be sent for, and to him she made known the cause 
of her illness. 

“ So laying her small hand within his palm, 

She told him how that secret glorious harm 
Of loftiest loving had befallen her; 

That death, her only hope, most bitter were, 

If when she died her love must perish too 
As songs unsung and thoughts unspoken do, 

Which else might live within another breast. 

She said, 1 Minuccio, the grave were rest, 

If I were sure, that lying cold and lone, 

My love, my best of life, had safely flown 
And nestled in the bosom of the king ; 

See, ’tis a small weak bird, with unfledged wing. 
But you will carry it for me secretly, 

And bear it to the king, then come to me 
And tell me it is safe, and I shall go 
Content, knowing that he I love my love doth 
know ! ’ ” 


Minuccio assured her of his devotion to her and 
readiness to do her bidding. He then departed to 
seek a poet friend, who willingly composed such 
verses as were fitted to move the heart of the king. 
When Minuccio received his next summons to the 
court he sang so well of love that the king was 
greatly pleased and questioned him concerning his 
song. When informed of Lisa’s suffering and of 
her love for himself, King Pedro sent her a mes- 
sage saying that he would visit her that evening. 

“ Joyful, Minuccio bore the joyous word, 

And told at full, while none but Lisa heard, 

How each thing had befallen, sang the song, 

And like a patient nurse who would prolong 
All means of soothing, dwelt upon each tone, 

Each look, with which the mighty Aragon 
Marked the high worth his royal heart assigned 
To that dear place he held in Lisa’s mind. 

She listened till the draughts of pure content 
Through all her limbs like some new being went — ” 

And then Lisa asked her parents to bring “ her 
soft white robe and band and coral ornaments.” 
They wondered at her improvement, but knew 
not- the cause. Presently King Pedro passed 
Bernardo’s house and stopped, as if by chance, to 


Il6 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

note the garden. He inquired for Bernardo’s 
daughter, and, being informed of her sad state, 
asked permission to see her and give her a word 
of kingly comfort and advice. 

“ With Lisa’s father and two chosen friends, 

Up to the chamber where she pillowed sits 
Watching the open door, that now admits 
A presence as much better than her dreams, 

As happiness than any longing seems. 

The king advanced, and, with a reverent kiss 
Upon her hand, said, ‘ Lady, what is this? 

You, whose sweet youth should others’ solace be, 
Pierce all our hearts, languishing piteously. 

We pray you, for the love of us, be cheered, 

Nor be too reckless of that life, endeared 
To us who know your passing worthiness, 

And count your blooming life as part of our life’s 
bliss ! ’ ” 

Lisa was filled with joy at the king’s kindly 
speech, and made answer : 

" ‘ Signor, I was too weak to bear the yoke, 

The golden yoke of thoughts too great for me. 

That was the ground of my infirmity. 

But now, I pray your grace to have belief 

That I shall soon be well, nor any more cause grief.’ 


Lisa 


117 

And Lisa? she no longer wished for death; 

But as a poet, who sweet verses saith 
Within his soul, and joys in music there, 

Nor seeks another heaven, nor can bear 
Disturbing pleasures, so was she content, 
Breathing the life of grateful sentiment, 

She thought no maid betrothed could be more blest 
For treasure must be valued by the test 
Of highest excellence and rarity, 

And her dear joy was best as best could be ; 

There seemed no other crown to her delight 
Now the high loved one saw her love aright. 

Thus her soul thriving on that exquisite mood, 
Spread like the May-time all its beauteous good 
O’er the soft bloom of neck, and arms, and cheek, 
And strengthened the sweet body, once so weak, 
Until she rose and walked, and, like a bird 
With sweetly rippling throat, she made her spring 
joys heard.” 

King Pedro noted Lisa’s improvement, and, 
after conferring with his good queen Constance, 
proclaimed a second visit; and when the royal 
pair had come in state with many courtiers, the 
king and queen drew Lisa apart and urged the 
suit of a youth who had long loved her; King 
Pedro claiming forhis portion a maidenly kiss and 
the right to count himself her knight. Wilh'ngly 
Lisa acceded to the king’s wishes in all respects ; 


Ii8 The True Lovers' Treasury 

and that very morning she was -betrothed to Perdi- 
cone. The king joined their hands, saying : 

“ ‘ Now we claim our share 
From your sweet love, a share which is not small; 
For in the sacrament one crumb is all.’ 

Then taking her small face his hands between, 

He kissed her on the brow with kiss serene, 

Fit seal to that pure vision her young soul had 
seen.” 

Swinburne has written a poem upon this subject 
called “ The Complaint of Lisa,” the last part of 
which is given here. 

“ O sunflower made drunken with the sun, 

O knight whose lady’s heart draws thine to her, 
Great king, glad lover, I have a word to thee. 
There is a weed lives out of the sun’s way, 

Hid from the heat deep in the meadow’s bed, 
That swoons and whitens at the wind’s least breath, 
A flower star-shaped, that all a summer day 
Will gaze her soul out on the sunflower 
For very love till twilight finds her dead. 

But the great sunflower heeds not her poor death, 
Knows not when all her loving life is done ; 

And so much knows my lord the king of me. 

“ Ay, all day long he has no eye for me ; 

With golden eye following the golden sun 


Lisa 


119 


From rose-colored to purple-pillowed bed, 

From birthplace to the flame-lit place of death, 
From eastern end to western of his way, 

So mine eye follows thee, my sunflower, 

So the white star-flower turns and yearns to thee, 
The sick weak weed, not well alive or dead, 

Trod under foot if any pass by her, 

Pale, without color of summer or summer breath 
In the shrunk shuddering petals, that have done 
No work but love, and die before the day. 

“ But thou, to-day, to-morrow, and every day, 

Be glad and great, O love whose love slays me. 

Thy fervent flower made fruitful from the sun 
Shall drop its golden seed in the world’s way, 
That all men thereof nourished shall praise thee 
For grain and flower and fruit of works well done; 
Till thy shed seed, O shining sunflower, 

Bring forth such growth of the world’s garden-bed 
As like the sun shall outlive age and death. 

And yet I would thine heart had heed of her 
Who loves thee alive; but not till she be dead. 
Come, Love, then, quickly, and take her utmost 
breath. 

“ Song, speak for me who am dumb as are the dead ; 
From my sad bed of tears I send forth thee, 

To fly all day from sun’s birth to sun’s death 
Down the sun’s way after the flying sun, 

For love of her that gave thee wings and breath 
Ere day be done, to seek the sunflower.” 


\ 




PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 


“ O love, O fire ! once he drew 

With one long kiss my whole soul through 
My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.” 


T ennyson. 

















































































































PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 


The oft-told tragedy of Francesca da Rimini 
has inspired much that is fine in modern art and 
poetry. The various scenes of the story have been 
repeatedly transferred to canvas. Rossetti has 
painted “ The Kiss ; ” Cabanal, “ The Death of 
Francesca and Watts has illustrated that fa- 
mous passage from the Inferno which describes the 
lovers borne along by the wind, clinging to each 
other, and lamenting their sad fate. Successful 
dramas have been written around this theme. 
Leigh Hunt made it the subject of his longest 
poem ; and in the introduction to the Boston edi- 
tion of Hunt’s poem the editor has commented at 
length upon the “ Story of Rimini.” 

“ Mr. Hunt has taken it just as he found it in 
Boccaccio and Dante. According to these 
authorities, Giovanni or Lanciotto de Malatesta, 
Lord of Rimini, a self-willed, courageous, cruel, 
deformed soldier, demands in marriage the daugh- 
ter of Guido de Polenta, Lord of Ravenna. Fear- 
123 


124 


The True Lovers ’ Treasury 


ful that his savage manners and ungainly person 
might too greatly disgust the fair bride he coveted, 
he sends his brother Paolo as his representative 
in the betrothal. The unhappy Francesca, led to 
believe that the handsome and accomplished 
youth who presents himself as her suitor is her 
future husband, becomes enamoured of him, and 
discovers too late that she is destined for another. 
The victim to so detestable a plot could not have 
been human, had she not felt deep indignation 
against all the authors of the atrocious imposture. 
Husband and father had both conspired to inflict 
upon her a grievous and lifelong wrong. Had 
they simply forced the marriage, it might have 
been endured; but deliberately to engage her 
affections to one brother, and then hand her over, 
like an article of common barter, to another, was 
an act of cruel treachery which might well have 
tried a more patient temper. It is not wonderful 
that in her meditations upon her destiny, her hot 
Italian brain should have failed to perceive the 
sanctity of vows thus forced upon her. The sequel 
is known to every one. She forgets her vows, 
surrenders herself to her lover, and pays the 
penalty of her sin with her own life and that of 
the unfortunate Paolo. Her crime, however, does 


Paolo and Francesca 


I2 5 


not appear to be the result of design and fore- 
thought. Dante expressly tells us that it was un- 
intended and unforeseen by either of the unhappy 
pair. Francesca, indeed, seems to have laboured 
to stifle her first affection and to be dutiful to her 
lord ; but on the fatal morning, she and her lover 
were reading a romance together, when suddenly 
the stifled flame broke forth. This is the story 
which so saddened the grave and virtuous Floren- 
tine, that he tells us he fell into a swoon, when the 
sad spirit had finished its recital. 

“ The poem opens with a description of a bright 
Italian day, and of the crowds gathering to witness 
the espousals of the victorious Lord of Rimini who 
takes the hand of the fair Francesca, as a bribe for 
peace with her father, a bribe the old man is glad 
to offer, for his domain has suffered sadly from 
the victories of Giovanni. The first glimpse we 
get of the intended bride is as she enters to take 
her place by her father’s side, a half- willing sacri- 
fice to her country : 

“ ‘ A home to leave, and husband yet to see, 

Are mixed with thoughts of lofty charity; 

And hard it is, she thinks, to have no will; 

But not to bless those thousands, harder still.’ 


126 The True Lovers' Treasury 

“ The whole description of the procession that 
follows is in the author’s best vein, and exhibits 
those traits of minute study and elaborate finish 
of description, to which the reader’s attention has 
already been directed. 

“ The anxiety of the Princess, as the expected 
visitor is about to appear, is admirably depicted : 

“ ‘ Her colour comes and goes, 

And, with an impulse, like a piteous plea , 

She lays her hand upon her father’s knee.’ 

“ The appearance of Paolo, however, agreeably 
disappoints her. His manly beauty, his princely 
grace, awaken an interest in her bosom. The 
whole has been contrived by her intriguing father 
to prevent rebellion, in consequence of the unpre- 
possessing character of the real husband. The 
deception is even kept up after the announcement 
of the true position of Paolo ; the daughter yields, 
and is betrothed to the handsome proxy who all 
the while is winning her favour. 

“ The contrast between the two brothers, at the 
bride’s presentation to the fierce master who has 
won her with his sword, is a fine piece of painting. 
The fatal words are said, the irrevocable doom is 


Paolo and Francesca 


127 


sealed, and the wife commences a dreary and 
hopeless life. Paolo now begins to muse upon the 
lovely creature whom he has assisted to render un- 
happy for life, and his regard for her grows and 
deepens into love. She soon discovers his passion, 
and gratitude, pity, and first favourable impres- 
sions complete the conquest of her heart. In 
describing the progress of this passion, our author 
has exhibited great tact and skill. In assigning 
the origin of her passion, he approximates more 
nearly to Boccaccio than Dante. . . . He 
makes Francesca melt into tears at the sudden 
avowal of love on the part of Paolo, and tell him 
all the past, her fears, her hopes, her hidden love, 
and then borrows the admirably delicate touch 
with which Dante concludes the story. But by 
narration in the third person, it loses some of the 
charm with which Francesca’s sudden confusion 
invests it, as it originally occurs in the Inferno. It 
is one of those delicate flowers of poetry which 
cannot be taken from its native soil without injury. 

“ The denouement is brought about by the tat- 
tling of a spy, who wished to be a lover of the 
fair Francesca, but was received by her with 
scorn. The hurry and confusion of the murder 
is graphically told : 


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The True Lovers ’ Treasury 


“ ‘ Horror is in the room, — shrieks, roaring cries, 
Parryings of feeble arms, blindly shut eyes : 

What, without arms, availed grief, strength, de- 
spair, 

Or what the two poor hands put forth in prayer ? 
Hot is the dagger from the lover’s heart 
Deep in the wife’s : — dead both, and dashed 
apart ! ’ 

“ In this manner, our author has filled up the 
outlines of the most beautiful episode of the ‘ Di- 
vina Commedia,’ a story which has touched the 
hearts of all Christendom. The sympathy of the 
reader is always with the unhappy wife. It cannot, 
in the nature of things, be otherwise, and Mr. 
Hunt has only given fuller expression to this uni- 
versal emotion.” — S. Adams Lee. 

“ The Story of Rimini ” is told in four cantos. 
The last part of Canto III. is especially affecting. 

“ One day, — ’twas on a gentle, autumn noon, 
When the cicale cease to mar the tune 
Of birds and brooks — and morning work is done, 
And shades have heavy outlines in the sun, — 

The Princess came to her accustomed bower 
To get her, if she could, a soothing hour; 

Trying, as she was used, to leave her cares 


Paolo and Francesca 


129 


Without, and slumberously enjoy the airs, 

And the low-talking leaves, and that cool light 
The vines let in, and all that hushing sight 
Of closing wood seen through the opening door, 
And distant plash of waters tumbling o’er, 

And smell of citron blooms, and fifty luxuries more. 

“ She tried as usual for the trial’s sake, 

For even that diminish’d her heart-ache; 

And never yet, how ill soe’er at ease, 

Came she for nothing ’midst the flowers and trees. 
Yet how it was she knew not, but that day 
She seem’d to feel too lightly borne away, — 

Too much reliev’d, — too much inclin’d to draw 
A careless joy from every thing she saw, 

And looking round her with a new-born eye, 

As if some tree of knowledge had been nigh, 

To taste of nature primitive and free, 

And bask at ease in her heart’s liberty. 

“ Painfully clear those rising thoughts appear’d, 
With something dark at bottom that she fear’d: 
And turning from the trees her thoughtful look, 
She reach’d o’erhead, and took her down a book, 
And fell to reading with as fix’d an air, 

As though she had been wrapt since morning there. 

“ ’Twas ‘ Launcelot of the Lake,’ a bright ro- 
mance, 

That like a trumpet made young pulses dance. 


130 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

Yet had a softer note that shook still more: — 
She had begun it but the day before, 

And read with a full heart, half sweet, half sad, 
How old King Ban was spoil’d of all he had 
But one fair castle : how one summer’s day 
With his fair queen and child he went away 
In hopes King Arthur might resent his wrong; 
How reaching by himself a hill ere long, 

He turn’d to give his castle a last look, 

And saw its calm white face; and how a smoke, 
As he was looking, burst in volumes forth, 

And good King Ban saw all that he was worth, 
And his fair castle burning to the ground, 

So that his wearied pulse felt overwound, 

And he lay down, and said a prayer apart 
For those he lov’d, and broke his poor old heart. 
Then read she of the queen with her young child 
How she came up, and nearly had gone wild, 
And how in journeying on in her despair, 

She reach’d a lake, and met a lady there, 

Who pitied her, and took the baby sweet 
Into her arms, when lo ! with closing feet 
She sprang up all at once, like bird from brake 
And vanish’d with him underneath the lake. 
Like stone thereat the mother stood, alas ! — 
The fairy of the place the lady was, 

And Launcelot (so the boy was call’d) became 
Her pupil, till in search of knightly fame 
He went to Arthur’s court, and play’d his part 
So rarely, and display’d so frank a heart, 


Paolo and Francesca 


131 

That what with all his charms of look and limb, 
The Queen Geneura fell in love with him : — 

And here, such interest in the tale she took, 
Francesca’s eyes went deeper in the book. 

“ Ready she sat with one hand to turn o’er 
The leaf, to which her thoughts ran on before, 

The other on the table, half enwreath’d 
In the thick tresses over which she breath’d. 

So sat she fix’d, and so observ’d was she 
Of one, who at the door stood tenderly, — 

Paulo, — who from a window seeing her 
Go strait across the lawn, and guessing where, 

Had thought she was in tears, and found, that day, 
His usual efforts vain to keep away. 

Twice had he seen her since the Prince was gone, 
On some small matter needing unison ; 

Twice linger’d, and convers’d, and grown long 
friends; 

But not till now where no one else attends. — 

* May I come in ? ’ said he : — it made her start, — 
That smiling voice ; — she colour’d, press’d her 
heart 

A moment, as for breath, and then with free 
And usual tone said, — 1 O yes, — certainly.’ 
There’s wont to be, at conscious times like these, 
An affectation of a bright-eyed ease, 

An air of something quite serene and sure, 

As if to seem so, were to be, secure. 

With this the lovers met, with this they spoke, 


1 3 2 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


With this sat down to read the self-same book, 
And Paulo, by degrees, gently embrac’d 
With one permitted arm her lovely waist; 

And both their cheeks, like peaches on a tree, 
Came with a touch together thrillingly, 

And o’er the book they hung, and nothing said, 
And every lingering page grew longer as they read. 

“ As thus they sat, and felt with leaps of heart 
Their colour change, they came upon the part 
Where fond Geneura, with her flame long nurst, 
Smil’d upon Launcelot, when he kiss’d her first : — 
That touch, at last, through every fibre slid ; 

And Paulo turn’d, scarce knowing what he did, 
Only he felt he could no more dissemble, 

And kiss’d her, mouth to mouth, all in a tremble. — 
Oh then she wept, — the poor Francesca wept; 
And pardon oft he pray’d; and then she swept 
The tears away, and look’d him in the face, 

And, well as words might save the truth disgrace, 
She told him all, up to that very hour, 

The father’s guile, th’ undwelt-in bridal bower, — 
And wish’d for wings on which they two might soar 
Far, far away, as doves to their own shore, 

With claim from none. — That day they read no 
more.” 

— Leigh Hunt. 


DANTE AND BEATRICE 


“ Only she that hath as great a share in virtue as 
in beauty deserves a noble love to serve her, and a 
true poesie to speak her — Habington. 















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DANTE AND BEATRICE 


What sort of being was she whose virtues and 
whose loveliness were capable of inspiring the 
sublime poetry of a Dante ? Was she, indeed, all 
that his fancy painted, or was she an ideal which 
he had created and then worshipped from afar? 
Or was she, as some commentators would have us 
believe, merely an allegorical personage typifying 
religion ? 

Let us see what Dante has to say upon this sub- 
ject. If we follow carefully the record of his inner 
life through the pages of the “ Vita Nuova,” the 
“ Convito,” and the “ Divina Commedia, ,, we 
shall find an answer to all of these questions. In 
the first of these works the “ New Life,” Dante 
tells us of a real Beatrice, and describes his first 
glimpse of this little maiden, then only nine years 
old, and of the place she at once came to occupy 
in his imagination, although at this time he had 
no speech with her; of his first actual meeting 
with her nine years later, on his return to Florence 
i35 


136 The True Lovers 1 Treasury 

after a sojourn abroad. Beatrice had married, 
probably about a year previous to this time, al- 
though we find no record of this in the “New 
Life ; ” but evidently this made no change in 
Dante’s feelings. She was securely enthroned in 
his affections, but so far above him in station that 
no thought of making her his seems ever to have 
entered his mind. On this occasion she addressed 
him most graciously and spoke such words of 
welcome that he went home in a transport of 
ecstasy ; and from that night the image of Beatrice 
took possession of his -soul and he was moved to 
write many things in her honor. After her death, 
which occurred when Dante was twenty-five years 
old, we find in the “New Life ” record of his grief 
at her removal, and of regret at his brief defection 
from her while he sought consolation in the com- 
passionate glances of a young lady to whom he 
ascribed a likeness to his lost love. At the close 
he describes a vision of his blessed lady and says 
that he will write nothing further of her until such 
time as he can “ discourse more worthily concern- 
ing her.” Herein lies the first hint of the “ Divine 
Comedy.” 

The “ Banquet,” which was never completed, 
is allegorical in character and contains an account 


Dante and Beatrice 


137 


of Dante’s spiritual experiences following the 
death of Beatrice. In it Dante tells us that he has 
taken Philosophy for his guide, and that the poems 
of love addressed to his consoler were in reality 
inspired by Philosophy, in whose teachings he 
has found comfort. He further says that as the 
image became clearer in his mind, Philosophy 
gradually assumed the appearance of his beloved 
Beatrice, who was destined to lead him on to a 
clearer vision of all spiritual phenomena. Thus 
we see how the “ Banquet ” unites the earlier and 
the later work, preparing the way for that greatest 
of all allegories. 

From the foregoing, then, we may conclude 
that Beatrice was a real living woman, who made 
a remarkable impression upon the youthful 
Dante ; that after her death he endowed her with 
extreme virtues, creating an ideal which later be- 
came to him a type of Divine Philosophy or The- 
ology. 

In the “ Loves of the Poets ” Mrs. Jameson 
gives us a picture of Dante’s early love, as de- 
scribed by himself. 

“ In one of his canzoni, called il Ritratto (the 
Portrait), Dante has left us a most minute and 
finished picture of his Beatrice, ‘ which,’ says Mr. 


138 The True Lovers' Treasury 

Carey, ‘ might well supply a painter with a far 
more exalted idea of female beauty than he could 
form from the celebrated Ode of Anacreon, on a 
similar subject. , From this canzone and some 
lines scattered through his sonnets, I shall sketch 
the person and character of Beatrice. She was not 
in form like the slender and fragile-looking Laura, 
but on a larger scale of loveliness, tall and of a 
commanding figure ; — graceful in her gait as a 
peacock, upright as a crane. Her hair was fair 
and curling, but not golden — an epithet I do not 
find once applied to it ; she had an ample forehead, 
a mouth that when it smiled surpassed all things 
in sweetness ; so that her Poet would give the uni- 
verse to hear it pronounce a kind ‘ yes .’ Her 
neck was white and slender, springing gracefully 
from the bust, a small, round, dimpled chin, and 
thereupon the Poet breaks out into a rapture any 
thing but theological. Her arms were beautiful 
and round; her hand soft, white, and polished; 
her fingers slender, and decorated with jewelled 
rings as became her birth ; fair she was as a pearl ; 
graceful and lovely to look upon, but disdainful 
where it was becoming. And, as a corollary to 
these traits, I will quote the eleventh Sonnet as a 
more general picture of female loveliness, height- 


Dante and Beatrice 


I 39 


ened by some tender touches of mental and moral 
beauty, such as never seem to have occurred to 
the debased imaginations of the classic poets.” 

The poetical translation of the sonnet referred 
to by Mrs. Jameson is substituted for the prose 
translation given in her work. 

“ The throne of Love is in my lady’s eyes, 

Whence everything she looks on is ennobled: 

On her all eyes are turned, where’er she moves 
And his heart palpitates whom she salutes, 

So that, with countenance cast down and pale, 
Conscious unworthiness his sighs express : 

Anger and pride before her presence fly. 

O, aid me, gentle dames, to do her honor ! 

All sweetness springs, and every humble thought 
Within the heart of him who hears her speak; 

And happy may be deemed who once hath seen her. 
What she appears when she doth gently smile 
Tongue cannot tell nor memory retain, — 

So beauteous is the miracle, and new.” 

In closing her sketch of Beatrice Mrs. Jameson 
asks, — “ Now where, in the name of all truth 
and all feeling, were the heads, or- rather the hearts, 
of those commentators, who could see nothing in 
the Beatrice thus beautifully portrayed, thus 
tenderly lamented, and thus sublimely commemo- 


140 The True Lovers' Treasury 

rated, but a mere allegorical personage, the crea- 
tion of a poet’s fancy? Nothing can come of 
nothing ; and it was no unreal or imaginary being 
who turned the course of Dante’s ardent passions 
and active spirit, and burning enthusiasm, into one 
sweeping torrent of love and poetry, and gave to 
Italy and to the world the ‘ Divina Commedia ! ’ ” 
Mrs. Jameson says of Dante that he “ was in 
his youth eminently handsome, but in a style of 
beauty which was characteristic of his mind : his 
eyes were large and intensely black, his nose 
aquiline, his complexion of a dark olive, his hair 
and beard very much curled, his step slow and 
measured, and the habitual expression of his 
countenance grave, with a tinge of melancholy 
abstraction. ... In allusion to his own personal 
appearance, he used to relate an incident that' 
once occurred to him. When years of persecution 
and exile had added to that natural sternness of 
his countenance, the deep lines left by grief, and 
the brooding spirit of vengeance, he happened to 
be at Verona, where since the publication of the 
Inferno, he was well known. Passing one day by 
a portico, where several women were seated, one 
of them whispered, with a look of awe, — * Do you 
see that man ? that is he who goes down to hell 


Dante and Beatrice 


141 


whenever he pleases, and brings us back tidings 
of the sinners below ! ’ ‘ Ay, indeed ! ’ replied 
her companion, — ‘ very likely ; see how his face 
is scarred with fire and brimstone, and blackened 
with smoke, and how his hair and beard have 
been singed and curled in the flames ! ’ 

“ Dante had not, however, this forbidding ap- 
pearance when he won the young heart of Beatrice 
Portinari. . . . The love of Dante for his Beatrice 
partook of the purity, tenderness, and elevated 
character of her who inspired it, and was also 
stamped with that stem and melancholy abstrac- 
tion, that disposition to mysticism, which were 
such strong features in the character of her 
lover.” 

A volume might be written concerning the repre- 
sentations of Dante and Beatrice in art. The 
history of the early portraits of Dante is especially 
interesting. Some of the most famous are Giotto’s 
portrait of Dante in the Bargello Palace, the por- 
trait in the Orcagna Fresco, and the so-called 
Riccardi portrait. Since the time of Giotto rep- 
resentative painters of France, Germany, and 
England have found inspiration in Dante’s life 
and writings. The sculptor Rodin was also 
greatly influenced by Dante’s works. 


142 The True Lovers' Treasury 

Rossetti has painted Beatrice many times, and 
has shown himself in complete sympathy with the 
subject. Among these paintings were* a pair of 
panels that formed part of a cabinet which 
Rossetti had designed for the house of William 
Morris. They represent “ Dante Meeting Bea- 
trice on Earth ” and “ Dante Meeting Beatrice in 
Paradise.” Rossetti says concerning one of his 
most famous pictures, “Beata Beatrix: ” — “ The 
picture illustrates the 1 Vita Nuova ’ embodying 
symbolically the death of Beatrice as treated in 
that work. The picture is not intended at all to 
represent death, but to render it under the sem- 
blance of a trance, in which Beatrice, seated at a 
balcony overlooking the city, is suddenly rapt 
from earth to heaven.” 

Rossetti’s beautiful painting, “ Dante’s Dream,” 
was also suggested by a passage in the “New 
Life.” Affixed to the picture when it was ex- 
hibited for the first time was the following in- 
terpretation composed by the artist : 

“ The scene is a chamber of dreams, strewn 
with poppies, where Beatrice is seen lying on a 
couch, as if just fallen back in death ; the winged 
figure of Love, in red drapery (the pilgrim Love 
of the 4 Vita Nuova,’ wearing the scallop shell on 


Dante and Beatrice 


143 


his shoulder) leads by the hand Dante, who walks 
conscious but absorbed, as in sleep; in his other 
hand Love carries his arrow pointed at the 
dreamer’s heart, and with it a branch of apple- 
blossom ; as he reaches the bier, Love bends for 
a moment over Beatrice with the kiss which her 
lover has never given her ; while the two green- 
clad dream-ladies hold the pall full of May-blos- 
som suspended for an instant before it covers her 
face forever.” 

The lines from the “New Life ” which this 
beautiful picture illustrates represent Dante as 
hearing in a vision the voice of a friend saying: 
“ ‘ Hast thou not heard ? She that was thine 
excellent lady has been taken out of life ? 9 And 
I seemed to look toward heaven and to behold a 
multitude of angels who were returning upwards, 
having before them an exceedingly white cloud, 
and these angels were singing together gloriously 
and the words of their song were these : ‘ Osanna 
in Excelsis ; 9 and there was no more that I heard. 
Then my heart that was so full of love said unto 
me : ‘ It is true that our lady lieth dead/ and it 
seems to me that I went to look upon the body 
wherein that blessed and most noble spirit had its 
abiding place.” 


144 T&e True Lovers' Treasury 

“ Then Love spoke thus : ‘ Now all shall be made 
clear : 

Come and behold our lady where she lies. > 

These idle phantasies 
Then carried me to see my lady dead : 

And standing at her head: 

Her ladies put a white veil over her: 

And with her was such very humbleness 
That she appeared to say, ‘ I am at peace.’ ” 


PETRARCH AND LAURA 

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch’s wife, 
He would have written sonnets all his life.” 

— Lord Byron. 


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PETRARCH AND LAURA 


The Platonic affection of Petrarch and Laura 
is little less celebrated than that of Dante and 
Beatrice. Petrarch’s poetry which covered a 
period of nearly half a century was written almost 
wholly in praise of Laura. During this time 
Petrarch composed hundreds of sonnets and 
lyrical poems. 

The poet first saw Laura on Good Friday, in 
the year 1327, at the church of St. Clara, at 
Avignon. She wore a green mantle sprinkled 
over with violets, and when he first noted her 
presence he almost expected her to fade away as 
if she were a supernatural visitant. Coming out 
of church he inquired her name of the verger, 
only to learn that she was the wife of Hugh de 
Sade, a man of noble family. The impression 
which she made upon him at this time never left 
him, and he has described and referred to this 
meeting over and over again in his sonnets. 

“ ’Twas on the morn, when heaven its blessed ray 
In pity to its suffering master veil’d, 
i47 


148 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


First did I, Lady, to your beauty yield, 

Of your victorious eyes th’ unguarded prey. 

Ah ! little reck’d I that, on such a day, 

Needed against Love’s arrows any shield ; 

And trod, securely trod, the fatal field: 

Whence, with the world’s, began my heart’s dismay. 
On every side Love found his victim bare, 

And through mine eyes transfix’d my throbbing 
heart ; 

Those eyes, which now with constant sorrows flow : 
But poor the triumph of his boasted art, 

Who thus could pierce a naked youth, nor dare 
To you in armour mail’d even to display his bow ! ” 

At a much later period he wrote of the origin of 
his passion describing it allegorically. 


“ From heaven an angel upon radiant wings, 

New lighted on that shore so fresh and fair, 

To which, so doom’d, my faithful footstep clings : 
Alone and friendless when she found me there, 

Of gold and silk a finely-woven net, 

Where lay my path, ’mid seeming flowers she set; 
Thus was I caught, and, for such sweet light shone 
From out her eyes, I soon forgot to moan.” 


And again, in a sonnet, he recalls the day and 
hour when they met. 


Petrarch and Laura 


149 


“ Virtue and honour, beauty, courtesy, 

With winning words and many a graceful way, 

My heart entangled in that laurel sweet. 

In thirteen hundred seven and twenty, I 
— ’Twas April, the first hour, on its sixth day — 
Enter’d Love’s labyrinth, whence is no retreat.” 

A doubt has sometimes been expressed as to 
Laura’s reality. Boccaccio, indeed, went so far 
as to deny her existence. Once the Bishop of 
Lombes in writing to Petrarch rallied him on 
his devotion to an imaginary Laura. In the 
course of the letter the Bishop said : “ Your 
Laura is a phantom created by your imagination 
for the exercise of your poetry. Your verse, your 
love, your sighs, are all a fiction; or if there 
is anything real in your passion, it is not for the 
lady Laura, but for the laurel — that is the 
crown of poets.” 

Petrarch replied : “ Would to Heaven that she 
were only an imaginary personage, and my passion 
for her only a pastime ! Alas ! it is a madness 
which it would be difficult and painful to feign 
for any length of time ; and what an extravagance 
it would be to affect such a passion ! One may 
counterfeit illness by action, by voice, and by 
manner, but no one in health can give himself the 


150 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

true air and complexion of disease. How often 
have you yourself been witness of my paleness 
and my sufferings ! ” 

The poet Campbell has given us in his “ Life 
of Petrarch ” an adequate description of the 
personal appearance and chief characteristics of 
the Italian poet. 

“ Petrarch, when young, was so strikingly 
handsome, that he was frequently pointed out 
and admired as he passed along, for his features 
were manly, well-formed, and expressive, and his 
carriage was graceful and distinguished. He 
was sprightly in conversation, and his voice was 
uncommonly musical. His complexion was be- 
tween brown and fair, and his eyes were bright 
and animated. His countenance was a faithful 
index of his heart. . . . 

“ The superior sagacity of our poet, together 
with his pleasing manners, and his increasing 
reputation for knowledge, ensured to him the 
most flattering prospects of success. His conver- 
sation was courted by men of rank, and his ac- 
quaintance was sought by men of learning. . . . 

“ In summing up Petrarch’s character, moral, 
political, and poetical, I should ... at once 
claim for his memory the title both of great and 


Petrarch and Laura 


151 

good. A restorer of ancient learning, a rescuer of 
its treasures from oblivion, a despiser of many 
contemporary superstitions, a man, who, though 
no reformer himself, certainly contributed to the 
Reformation, an Italian patriot who was above 
provincial partialities, a poet who still lives in the 
hearts of his country, and who is shielded from 
oblivion by more generations than there were 
hides in the sevenfold shield of Ajax — if this was 
not a great man, many who are so called must 
bear the title unworthily. He was a faithful 
friend, and a devoted lover, and appears to have 
been one of the most fascinating beings that ever 
existed.” 

In the love poems of Petrarch we find almost the 
only information which we have to-day respect- 
ing Laura. From these we gather that she was 
of slight build, having a profusion of golden curls, 
a noble brow, soft dark eyes, a sensitive mouth of 
much beauty, a slender neck, and cheeks in which 
the bloom of health was most often seen. Her 
figure was graceful, and her hands shapely and 
white. 

“ O beauteous hand ! that dost my heart subdue, 

And in a little space my life confine ; 


152 The True Lovers * Treasury 

Hand where their skill and utmost efforts join 
Nature and Heaven, their plastic powers to show ! 
Sweet fingers, seeming pearls of orient hue, 

Unto my wounds only cruel fingers fine ! ” 

Petrarch alludes frequently to her smile and 
loveliness of expression, also to the melting tones 
of her voice, but most often he praises her eyes 
and her hair. 

“ That starry forehead and those tranquil eyes, 

The fair angelic mouth, where pearl and rose 
Contrast each other, whence sweet music flows, 
These fill the gazer with a fond surprise, 

The fine head, the bright tresses which defied 
The sun to match them in his noonday pride.” 


When Laura perceived his passion her manner 
became more restrained, and her lover complained 
because she veiled her features from his too ardent 
gaze. 

“ Never thy veil, in sun or in the shade, 

Lady, a moment I have seen 
Quitted, since of my heart the queen 
Mine eyes confessing thee my heart betray’d. 
While my enamour’d thoughts I kept conceal’d, 
Those fond vain hopes by which I die, 


Petrarch and Laura 


153 


In thy sweet features kindness beam’d: 

Changed was the gentle language of thine eye 
Soon as my foolish heart itself reveal’d: 

And all that mildness which I changeless deem’d — 
All, all withdrawn which most my soul esteem’d. 
Yet still the veil I must obey, 

Which, whatsoe’er the aspect of the day, 

Thine eyes’ fair radiance hides, my life to over- 
shade.” 

That Laura was something of a coquette, in 
spite of her severe manner and angelic modesty, 
is evinced in a sonnet. 

“To thee, Sennuccio, fain would I declare, 

To sadden life, what wrongs, what woes I find: 
Still glow my wonted flames; and, though resign’d 
To Laura’s fickle will, no change I bear. 

All humble now, then haughty is my fair; 

Now meek, then proud ; now pitying, then unkind : 
Softness and tenderness now sway her mind; 
Then do her looks disdain and anger wear. 

Here would she sweetly sing, there sit awhile, 
Here bend her step, and there her step retard ; 

Here her bright eyes my easy heart ensnared; 
There would she speak fond words, here lovely 
smile ; 

There frown contempt ; — such wayward cares I 
prove 

By night, by day; so wills our tyrant Love! ” 


154 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

Petrarch was not the only person to be impressed 
with Laura’s rare beauty. On the occasion of the 
election to the Roman throne of Prince Charles, 
better known as Charles of Luxemburg, he was 
presented to all the beauties of Avignon and of 
Provence, at a fete; and from among them se- 
lected Laura whose praises he had heard sung, and 
approaching her saluted her with a kiss in the 
French manner. The event was commemorated 
in a sonnet. 

“ A kingly nature, an angelic mind, 

A spotless soul, — • prompt aspect and keen eye, 
Quick penetration, contemplation high 
And truly worthy of the breast which shrined : 

In bright assembly lovely ladies join’d 
To grace that festival with gratulant joy, 

Amid so many and fair faces nigh 

Soon his good judgment did the fairest find. 

Of riper age and higher rank the rest 
Gently he beckon’d with his hand aside, 

And lovingly drew near the perfect one : 

So courteously her eyes and brow he press’d, 

All at his choice in fond approval vied — 

Envy through my sole veins at that sweet freedom 
run.” 

Petrarch sought to distract his mind by travel 
and sojourn in other lands, but Laura’s image 


Petrarch and Laura 


155 


remained with him and many were the sonnets 
indited to her descriptive of the anguish caused by 
such separation. 

“ The loved hills where I left myself behind, 
Whence ever ’twas so hard my steps to tear, 

Before me rise ; at each remove I bear 
The dear load to my lot by Love consign’d. 

Often I wonder inly in my mind, 

That still the fair yoke holds me, which despair 
Would vainly break, that yet I breathe this air; 
Though long the chain, its links but closer bind. 
And as a stag, sore struck by hunter’s dart, 

Whose poison’d iron rankles in his breast, 

Flies and more grieves the more the chase is press’d, 
So I, with Love’s keen arrow in my heart, 

Endure at once my death and my delight, 

Rack’d with long grief, and weary with vain flight.” 

Laura died of the plague, in her fortieth year, 
during Petrarch’s absence from Avignon. By a 
singular coincidence she died upon the anniver- 
sary of the day of their first meeting. Her poet- 
lover poured forth his grief in more sonnets, and 
to the end of his long life his theme was ever the 
charms and virtues of Laura. 

“ Nor stars bright glittering through the cool still air, 
Nor proud ships riding on the tranquil main, 


iS6 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


Nor armed knights light pricking o’er the plain, 
Nor deer in glades disporting void of care, 

Nor tidings hoped by recent messenger, 

Nor tales of love in high and gorgeous strain, 
Nor by clear stream, green mead, or shady lane 
Sweet-chaunted roundelay of lady fair; 

Nor aught beside my heart shall e’er engage — 
Sepulchred, as ’tis henceforth doom’d to be, 

With her, my eyes’ sole mirror, beam, and bliss 
Oh ! how I long this weary pilgrimage 
To close ; that I again that form may see, 

Which never to have seen had been my happiness ! 


MICHAEL ANGELO AND VITTORIA 
COLONNA 


“ Small fellowship of daily commonplace 

We hold together, dear, constrained to go 
Diverging ways. Yet day by day I know 
My life is sweeter for thy life’s sweet grace; 

And if we meet but for a moment’s space, 

Thy touch, thy word, sets all the world aglow.” 
— Sophie Jewett ( Ellen Burroughs ) . 





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MICHAEL ANGELO AND VITTORIA 
COLONNA 


Vittoria Colonna, the theme of song, was her- 
self a poet of no mean rank. She lived at a period 
when Italy boasted of the learning and accom- 
plishments of its women, and she was the superior 
of them all. Descended from an illustrious 
family, she was, in childhood, betrothed to the 
Marquis de Pescara. They were both but seven- 
teen when their marriage was solemnized. We 
are told that Pescara was handsome in person, of 
a brave and noble nature, having some literary 
taste, but more interested in military affairs. The 
devoted couple led an ideal existence on the Isle 
of Ischia during the first four years of their 
marriage. This island Vittoria has celebrated in 
her poems. 

Pescara was soon called upon to take an active 
part in the wars of his country. He returned as 
often as he might to Vittoria at Ischia, where the 
romance of their lives centered. These brief 
meetings made up the sum of their happiness. 

*59 


162 The True Lovers 9 Treasury 

Mrs. Jameson has given us an excellent account 
of Michael Angelo’s love for this charming 
woman : 

“ Not the least of Vittoria’s titles to fame, was 
the intense adoration with which she inspired 
Michel Angelo. Condivi says he was enamoured 
of her divine talents. . . . She was fifteen years 
younger than Michel Angelo, who not only em- 
ployed his pencil and his chisel for her pleasure, 
or at her suggestion, but has left among his poems 
several which are addressed to her, and which 
breathe that deep and fervent, yet pure and rever- 
ential love she was as worthy to inspire as he was 
to feel. 

“ I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of adding 
here one of the Sonnets, addressed by Michel 
Angelo to the Marchesana of Pescara, as trans- 
lated by Wordsworth, in a peal of grand harmony, 
almost as literally faithful to the expression as to 
the spirit of the original. 

“ 4 SONNET 

“ ‘ Yes ! hope may with my strong desire keep pace, 

And I be undeluded, unbetrayed; 

For if of our affections none find grace 

In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made 


Michael Angelo and Vittoria Colonna 163 

The world which we inhabit? Better plea 
Love cannot have, than that in loving thee 
Glory to that eternal peace is paid, 

Who such divinity to thee imparts 
As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts. 

His hope is treacherous only whose love dies 
With beauty, which is varying every hour : 

But, in chaste hearts, uninfluenced by the power 
Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower, 
That breathes on earth the air of Paradise.’ 

“ He stood by her in her last moments ; and 
when her lofty and gentle spirit had forsaken its 
fair tenement, he raised her hand and kissed it 
with a sacred respect. He afterwards expressed 
to an intimate friend, his regret, that being 
oppressed by the awful feelings of that moment, 
he had not, for the first and last time, pressed his 
lips to hers. . . . 

“ Vittoria Colonna died at Rome, in 1547. She 
was suspected of favoring in secret the reformed 
doctrines. . . . Her noble birth, her admir- 
able beauty, her illustrious marriage, her 
splendid genius, (which made her the worship of 
genius — and the theme of poets,) have rendered 
her one of the most remarkable of women ; as her 
sorrows, her conjugal virtues, her innocence of 


164 The True Lovers' Treasury 

heart, and elegance of mind, have rendered her 
one of the most interesting.” 

In a characteristic sonnet written after Vittoria 
Colonna’s death Michael Angelo beautifully 
describes his feeling of irreparable loss. The 
translation was made by John Addington 
Symonds, who has added much to the litera- 
ture concerning the great master. 

“ When my rude hammer to the stubborn stone 
Gives human shape, now that, now this, at will, 
Following his hand who wields and guides it still, 
It moves upon another’s feet alone: 

But that which dwells in heaven, the world doth 
fill 

With beauty by pure notions of its own; 

And since tools fashion tools which else were none, 
Its life makes all that lives with living skill. 
Now, for that every stroke excels the more 
The higher at the forge it doth ascend, 

Her soul that fashioned mine hath sought the 
skies : 

Wherefore unfinished I must meet my end, 

If God, the great Artificer, denies 
That aid which was unique on earth before.” 


ABELARD AND HELOISE 


“ Where is Heloisa the staid, 

For whose sake Abelard did not spare 
(Such dole for love on him was laid) 
Manhood to lose and a cowl to wear ? ” 

— Villon. 








4 









ABELARD AND HELOISE 

Abelard and Heloise lived and loved in the 
twelfth century; but the story of their love and 
devotion wall live always. Pierre Abelard was the 
greatest scholastic of his age. With him began the 
movement which Luther brought to a climax four 
centuries later. With Heloise began the enfran- 
chisement of woman. As Wight puts it in his 
“ Romance of Abelard and Heloise : ” — “ Woman, 
recognized in the Middle Age by the state 
under the degrading title of the weaker vessel 
( vas infirmior ), — woman cursed in the eleventh 
century by the church, the heroic Heloise in the 
twelfth century proved, by her example and her 
writings, to be equal with man, — equal as a 
whole, compensating for lack of energy and 
strength by superior devotedness, patient endur- 
ance and love.” 

To quote still further from this interesting 
biography : — “ With the philosophy of Abelard 
we shall not trouble ourselves here. Abelard and 
Heloise — the greatest man and the greatest 
167 


1 68 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

woman of the twelfth century — were brought by 
fortune into romantic relations with each other, 
and, as lovers, they possess for each soul of us an 
extraordinary interest.” 

While commentators agree as to the noble and 
disinterested love of Heloise, there will be found 
grave differences of opinion regarding the senti- 
ment ascribed to Abelard. Was he, as some critics 
would have us believe, the cold, calculating ingrate 
who won his pupil’s confidence only to deceive 
her ? Or did he feel for her a profound love which 
would not be denied and which survived all the 
years of his misfortunes ? 

From his youth Abelard had devoted himself to 
the study and practice of philosophy, with such 
success that he soon surpassed his instructors. 
Was it strange, considering the lax morality of the 
times, that a man who sought advancement in the 
church, and to whom in consequence marriage was 
prohibited, should have become involved in a 
hopeless labyrinth of passion? If Abelard’s love 
was not at first equal to that of Heloise, if he was 
attracted to her because she was beautiful and 
accomplished, a woman in advance of her genera- 
tion, he undoubtedly became her sincere lover and 
so continued, bound by her faithfulness and utter 


Abelard and Heloise 


169 


abnegation of self. When the true state of affairs 
became known, he did not for a moment think of 
abandoning her as he might easily have done, but 
insisted upon a marriage which meant his ruin if it 
should ever be made public. Heloise was equally 
firm in her refusal to avail herself of this re- 
trieval of her honor; but finally, unable to con- 
vince Abelard of its futility, consented to a secret 
marriage. Reports of the marriage soon reached 
the friends of the lovers. Abelard and Heloise 
promptly denied these rumors, which so enraged 
Heloise’s uncle, the canon Fulbert, that he took 
measures which resulted in Abelard’s exposure 
and consequent downfall; and in the removal of 
Heloise to the seclusion of a convent. After en- 
during such mortifications, Abelard had no 
strength left to remain in the world, and was glad 
to find a refuge in the cloister. At his request, the 
beautiful Heloise, then only nineteen years of age, 
took the veil at Argenteuil shortly before Abelard 
entered the Abbey of Saint Denis. 

The remainder of Abelard’s life was devoted to 
affairs of philosophy and religion. He seldom 
saw Heloise, but kept himself informed of her con- 
dition, and when she and her followers lost their 
home at Argenteuil, on account of a flaw in the 


172 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

“ The history of their misfortunes has traversed 
the centuries ; each generation has hailed in their 
united names the glorious symbol of love. In 
view of these noble victims poets have been in- 
spired, tender hearts have been touched; and in 
their course, at once triumphal and melancholy, 
the two lovers have received every homage, here a 
flower, there a tear.” 


ELOISA TO ABELARD 

“ In these deep solitudes and awful cells, 

Where heavenly-pensive contemplation dwells, 
And ever-musing melancholy reigns, 

What means this tumult in a vestal’s veins? 
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat? 
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat? 
Yet, yet I love ! — From Abelard it came, 

And Eloisa yet must kiss the name. 

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose, 

That well known name awakens all my woes. 
Oh name for ever sad ! for ever dear ! 

Still breath’d in sighs, still usher’d with a tear. 

I tremble too, where’er my own I find, 

Some dire misfortune follows close behind. 
Line after line my gushing eyes o’erflow, 

Led through a sad variety of woe : 


Abelard and Heloise 


173 


Now warm in love, now withering in my bloom, 
Lost in a convent’s solitary gloom ! 

There stern religion quench’d th’ unwilling flame, 
There died the best of passions, love and fame. 

Yet write, O write me all, that I may join 
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine. 

Nor foes nor fortune take this power away ; 

And is my Abelard less kind than they ? 

Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare; 
Love but demands what else were shed in prayer; 
No happier task these faded eyes pursue; 

To read and weep is all they now can do. 


Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day, 
When victims at yon altar’s foot we lay? 

Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell, 
When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell ? 
As with cold lips I kissed the sacred veil, 

The shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale : 
Heaven scarce believ’d the conquest it survey’d, 
And saints with wonder heard the vows I made. 
Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew, 

Not on the cross my eyes were fixed, but you : 

Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, 

And if I lose thy love, I lose my all. 

Yet here for ever, ever must I stay; 

Sad proof how well a lover can obey ! 

Death, only death can break the lasting chain; 
And here, e’en then shall my cold dust remain ; 


174 


The True Lovers’ Treasury 


Here all its frailties, all its flames resign, 

And wait till ’tis no sin to mix with thine. 

Of all affliction taught a lover yet, 

’Tis sure the hardest science to forget! 

How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, 

And love th’ offender, yet detest th’ offence ? 

How the dear object from the crime remove, 

Or how distinguish penitence from love? 
Unequal task ! a passion to resign, 

For hearts so touch’d, so pierc’d, so lost as mine. 
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state, 

How often must it love, how often hate ! 

How often hope, despair, resent, regret, 

Conceal, disdain — do all things but forget ! 

But let Heaven seize it, all at once ’tis fir’d ; 

Not touch’d, but wrapt; not waken’d, but inspir’d 
O come ! O teach me nature to subdue, 

Renounce my love, my life, myself — and you : 
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he 
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.” 

- — Alexander Pope. 


“ ’TIS OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE 


“ Who would list to the good lay 
Gladness of the captive grey? 

*Tis how two young lovers met, 

Aucassin and Nicolete, 

Of the pains the lover bore 
And the sorrows he outwore, 

For the goodness and the grace, 

Of his love, so fair of face.” 

— Translation oj Andrew Lang. 

















AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE 


The song-story of “ Aucassin and Nicolette ” 
is found in the fabliaux of mediaeval France. 
These fabliaux were usually short romances of a 
humorous or satirical character. One of the most 
celebrated and delightful of these tales is that of 
“ Aucassin and Nicolette.” The author of this 
charming love story was probably a minstrel of 
the later twelfth or earlier thirteenth century, who 
went about singing and reciting the tale. It is not 
known whether this method of giving a romance 
in alternate verse and prose was peculiar to the 
inventor of this tale, or whether the custom pre- 
vailed among the wandering story-tellers of the 
period. It is a love story pure and simple, the 
humor of the piece being contained in the bur- 
lesque interlude relating to the country of Tore- 
lore. In the original manuscript, which is in the 
National Library at Paris, music is interspersed 
with the words of the songs. The romantic opera 
of “ Aucassin and Nicolette ” is based upon this 
story. 


177 


178 The True Lovers 1 Treasury 

Aucassin, son of the Count of Beaucaire, loved 
the fair captive Nicolette, and for love of her 
whom his father refused to him, would not be 
comforted ; neither would he go forth to do battle 
with the enemy — who even then besieged the city 
gates — until his father made promise that he 
should see Nicolette on his return. When the 
enemy was defeated Aucassin hastened to claim 
his reward ; but the Count had not only forgotten 
his vow, but had so wrought that Nicolette was 
walled up in a high tower; and not long after 
Aucassin was thrown into prison. Making their 
escape, the lovers fled separately into a great 
forest ; where they happily met in a lodge woven 
of flowers and green boughs, which Nicolette had 
fashioned for a shelter. Fearing further en- 
counters with the lord of Beaucaire, they took ship 
unto a distant country, and for three years dwelt 
in the strange land of Torelore. Captured by 
Saracen pirates, separation once more ensued. 
Aucassin regained his own land and was received 
with great joy by the people, who immediately 
proclaimed him Count of Beaucaire, in place of 
his father recently deceased. Nicolette was borne 
away to Carthage where it was proven that she was 
daughter to the king, from whom she had been 


Aucassin and Nicolette 


179 


stolen while yet a child and sold into captivity. 
Great rejoicing followed, and, against her will, a 
royal marriage was planned for her; but she 
escaped, disguised as a harper, and went seeking 
her lover, to whom she was finally reunited. 

The peculiar form of the song-story is well 
illustrated in the description of Nicolette’s meeting 
with Aucassin, to whom she came in her disguise 
playing the viol and singing. 

“ Then took she a certain herb, and therewith 
smeared her head and her face, till she was all 
brown and stained. And she let make coat, and 
mantle, and smock, and hose, and attired herself 
as if she had been a harper. So took she the viol 
and went to a mariner, and so wrought on him that 
he took her aboard his vessel. Then hoisted they 
sail, and fared on the high seas even till they 
came to the land of Provence. And Nicolete went 
forth and took the viol, and went playing through 
all that country, even till she came to the castle of 
Biaucaire, where Aucassin lay. 

“ Here singeth one : 


“ At Biaucaire below the tower 
Sat Aucassin, on an hour, 


The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

Heard the bird, and watched the flower, 
With his barons him beside, 

Then came on him in that tide, 

The sweet influence of love 
And the memory thereof ; 

Thought of Nicolete the fair, 

And the dainty face of her 
He had loved so many years, 

Then was he in dule and tears ! 

Even then came Nicolete 
On the stair a foot she set, 

And she drew the viol bow 
Through the strings and chanted so ; 

1 Listen, lords and knights, to me, 

Lords of high or low degree, 

To my story list will ye 
All of Aucassin and her 
That was Nicolete the fair? 

And their love was long to tell 
Deep woods through he sought her well, 
Paynims took them on a day 
In Torelore and bound they lay. 

Of Aucassin naught know we, 

But fair Nicolete the free 

Now in Carthage doth she dwell, 

There her father loves her well, 

Who is king of that countrie. 

Her a husband hath he found, 

Paynim lord that serves Mahound! 
Ne’er with him the maid will go, 


Aucassin and Nicolette 181 

For she loves a damoiseau, 

Aucassin, that ye may know, 

Swears to God that never mo 
With a lover will she go 
Save with him she loveth so 
In long desire.’ 

“ So speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: 

“ When Aucassin heard Nicolete speak in this 
wise, he was right joyful, and drew her to one side, 
and spoke, saying : 

“ 1 Sweet fair friend, know ye nothing of this 
Nicolete, of whom ye have thus sung ? 9 

“ ‘ Yea, Sir, I know her for the noblest creature, 
and the most gentle, and the best that ever was 
born on ground. She is daughter to the King of 
Carthage that took her there where Aucassin was 
taken, and brought her into the city of Carthage, 
till he knew that verily she was his own daughter, 
whereon he made right great mirth. Anon wished 
he to give her for her lord one of the greatest kings 
of all Spain, but she would rather let herself be 
hanged or burned, than take any lord, how great 
soever.’ 

“ ‘ Ha ! fair sweet friend/ quoth the Count 
Aucassin, ‘ if thou wilt go into that land again, and 


182 The True Lovers' Treasury 

bid her come and speak to me, I will give thee of 
my substance, more than thou wouldst dare to ask 
or take. And know ye that for the sake of her, I 
have no will to take a wife, howsoever high her 
lineage. So wait I for her, and never will I have a 
wife, but her only. And if I knew where to find 
her, no need would I have to seek her.’ 

“ ‘ Sir,’ quoth she, ‘ if ye promise me that, I will 
go in quest of her for your sake, and for hers, that 
I love so much.’ 

“So he sware to her, and anon let give her 
twenty livres, and she departed from him, and he 
wept for the sweetness of Nicolete. And when she 
saw him weeping, she said : 

“ ‘ Sir, trouble not thyself so much withal. For 
in a little while shall I have brought her into this 
city, and ye shall see her.’ 

“ (After eight days Nicolete sent the lady in 
whose house she had been staying to bid Aucassin 
come to her there.) 

“ And the lady spake unto him and said : 

“ ‘ Aucassin, sorrow no more, but come thou on 
with me, and I will shew thee the thing in the 
world that thou lovest best; even Nicolete thy 
dear love, who from far lands hath come to seek 
of thee.’ And Aucassin was right glad. 


Aucassin and Nicolette 


183 


“ Here singeth one : 

“ When Aucassin heareth now 
That his lady bright of brow 
Dwelleth in his own countrie, 

Never man was glad as he. 

To her castle doth he hie 
With the lady speedily, 

Passeth to the chamber high, 

Findeth Nicolete thereby. 

Straight she leaped upon her feet: 

When his love he saw at last, 

Arms about her did he cast, 

Kissed her often kissed her sweet 
Kissed her lips and brows and eyes. 

Thus all night do they devise, 

Even till the morning white. 

Then Aucassin wedded her, 

Made her lady of Biaucaire. 

Many years abode they there, 

Many years in shade or sun, 

In great gladness and delight. 

Ne’er hath Aucassin regret 
Nor his lady Nicolete. 

Now my story all is done, 

Said and sung ! ” 

— Done into English by Andrew Lang. 

The translator of the above has also written a 
Ballade of Aucassin and Nicolete ” in which he 


184 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

takes us back in fancy to roam with Aucassin and 
Nicolete under kindly Southern skies. 

“ Where smooth the Southern waters run 

Through rustling leagues of poplars gray, 
Beneath a veiled soft Southern sun, 

We wandered out of Yesterday; 

Went Maying in that ancient May 
Whose fallen flowers are fragrant yet, 

And lingered by the fountain spray 
With Aucassin and Nicolete.” 

The “ Ballade of Nicolete,” by Mr. Graham R. 
Tomson, portrays in a vivid and artistic manner 
the flight of Nicolete from her tower. 

“ All bathed in pearl and amber light 
She rose to fling the lattice wide, 

And leaned into the fragrant night, 

Where brown birds sang of summertide; 

(’Twas Love’s own voice that called and cried) 

‘ Ah, Sweet ! ’ she said, ‘ I’ll seek thee yet, 

Though thorniest pathways should betide 
The fair white feet of Nicolete.’ 

“ They slept, who would have stayed her flight; 
(Full fain were they the maid had died ! ) 

She dropped adown her prison’s height 
On strands of linen featly tied. 


Aucassin and Nicolette 


185 


And so she passed the garden-side 
With loose-leaved roses sweetly set, 
And dainty daisies, dark beside 
The fair white feet of Nicolete ! ” 


Mr. E. C. Stedman’s “ Provencal Lovers ” is a 
poetical paraphrase of the passage in which 
Aucassin declares his preference to take the road 
to Purgatory with agreeable companions, rather 
than to give up Nicolette and travel to Paradise 
with barefoot monks and friars. The last three 
stanzas are quoted here. 

“ ‘ To Purgatory I would go 

With pleasant comrades whom we know, 

Fair scholars, minstrels, lusty knights 
Whose deeds the land will not forget, 

The captains of a hundred fights, 

The men of valor and degree: 

We’ll join that gallant company/ — 

Said Aucassin to Nicolette. 

“ ‘ There, too, are jousts and joyance rare, 

And beauteous ladies debonaire, 

The pretty dames, the merry brides, 

Who with their wedded lords coquette 
And have a friend or two besides, — 

And all in gold and trappings gay, 


1 86 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

With furs, and crests in vair and gray/ — 

Said Aucassin to Nicolette. 

“ 1 Sweet players on the cithern strings, 

And they who roam the world like kings 
Are gathered there, so blithe and free ! 

Pardie ! I’d join them now, my pet, 

If you went also, ma douce mie! 

The joys of heaven I’d forego 
To have you with me there below,’ — 

Said Aucassin to Nicolette.” 

The story of Aucassin and Nicolette has been 
illustrated by French and American artists, and 
has passed through numerous editions and trans- 
lations. Mr. Lang’s translation has been reprinted 
by Mr. T. B. Mosher in his “ Old World Series ” 
and with it is included the “ Ballade of Aucassin,” 
the “ Ballade of Nicolete,” and “ Provencal 
Lovers.” 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA 


There’s nothing half so sweet in life 
As love’s young dream.” 


— Moore. 






























































































PAUL AND VIRGINIA 


Closely allied to the Greek pastoral in sentiment, 
the “ Paul and Virginia ” of Henri Bemardin St. 
Pierre is everywhere recognized as an echo of 
“ Daphnis and Chloe.” If, as one writer says, St. 
Pierre aimed at becoming the Theocritus and 
Virgil of the tropics, he has succeeded in this his 
masterpiece. It was published in 1788, and in 
spite of many misgivings felt by the author, sprang 
at once into popular favor. A pension was settled 
upon St. Pierre by Joseph Bonaparte, and Napo- 
leon is said to have slept with a copy of the book 
under his head. Mothers have named their chil- 
dren after the young lovers. Many a sampler has 
been worked in colors representing scenes from 
this famous story. Painters have put it on canvas, 
and it has continued to live in poetry, opera and 
drama. 

St. Pierre was a disciple of Jean Jacques 
Rousseau, and his style was formed upon that of 
the great sentimentalist and nature worshipper. 

Dwelling in neighboring cottages on a lonely 
189 


190 


The True Lovers ’ Treasury 


isle Paul and Virginia, like their Greek prototypes, 
lived a simple isolated life in the open air. They 
were wholly devoted to each other. 

“ When you met with one of these children you 
might be sure the other was not distant. One day, 
coming down that mountain, I saw Virginia at the 
end of the garden, running toward the house, with 
her petticoat thrown over her head, in order to 
screen herself from a shower of rain. At a distance 
I thought she was alone ; but as I hastened toward 
her, in order to help her on, I perceived that she 
held Paul by the arm, who was almost entirely 
enveloped in the same canopy, and both were 
laughing heartily at being sheltered together under 
an umbrella of their own invention. Those two 
charming faces, placed within the petticoat 
swelled by the wind, recalled to my mind the chil- 
dren of Leda inclosed within the same shell. 

“ Their sole study was how to please and assist 
each other; for of all other things they were 
ignorant, and knew neither how to read nor write. 
They were never disturbed by researches into 
past times, nor did their curiosity extend beyond 
the bounds of that mountain. They believed 
the world ended at the shores of their own island, 
and all their ideas and affections were confined 


Paul and Virginia 19 1 

within its limits. Their mutual tenderness and 
that of their mothers employed all the activity 
of their souls. Their tears had never been called 
forth by long application to useless sciences. 
Their minds had never been wearied by lessons 
of morality, superfluous to bosoms unconscious 
of ill. They had never been taught that they 
must not steal, because everything with them 
was in common ; or be intemperate, because their 
simple food was left to their own discretion; or 
false, because they had no truth to conceal. 
Their young imaginations had never been terri- 
fied by the idea that God has punishments in 
store for ungrateful children, since with them 
filial affection arose naturally from maternal 
fondness. All they had been taught of religion 
was to love it ; and if they did not offer up long 
prayers in the church, wherever they were, in 
the house, in the fields, in the woods, they raised 
toward Heaven their innocent hands and their 

hearts purified by virtuous affections 

“Amiable children ! thus passed your early days 
in innocence, and in the exercise of benevolence. 
How many times, on this very spot, have your 
mothers, pressing you in their arms, blessed 
Heaven for the consolations your unfolding 


192 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


virtues prepared for their declining years, while 
already they enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing 
you begin life under the most happy auspices ! 
How many times, beneath the shade of those 
rocks, have I partaken with them of your rural 
repasts, which cost no animal its life. Gourds 
filled with milk, fresh eggs, cakes of rice placed 
upon plantain-leaves, baskets loaded with man- 
goes, oranges, dates, pomegranates, pineapples, 
furnished at the same time the most wholesome 
food, the most beautiful colors, and the most 
delicious juices. . . . 

“ In the rainy seasons the two families assem- 
bled together in the hut, and employed themselves 
in weaving mats of grass and baskets of bamboo. 
Rakes, spades, and hatchets were ranged along 
the walls in the most perfect order; and near 
those instruments of agriculture were placed the 
productions which were the fruits of labor — 
sacks of rice, sheaves of com, and baskets of the 
plantain fruit. Some degree of luxury is usually 
united with plenty, and Virginia was taught by 
her mother and Margaret to prepare sherbet and 
cordials from the juice of the sugar-cane, the 
orange, and the citron. . . . 

“ Thus grew those children of nature. No care 


Paul and Virginia 


193 


had troubled their peace, no intemperance had 
corrupted their blood, no misplaced passion had 
depraved their hearts. Love, innocence, and piety 
possessed their souls ; and those intellectual graces 
unfolded themselves in their features, their atti- 
tudes, and their motions. Still in the morning 
of life, they had all its blooming freshness; and 
surely such in the garden of Eden appeared our 
first parents, when, coming from the hands of 
God, they first saw, approached, and conversed 
together, like brother and sister. Virginia was 
gentle, modest, and confiding as Eve; and Paul, 
like Adam, united the figure of manhood with the 
simplicity of a child.” 

When the young Virginia was sent away for a 
time to a relative in France, in order to gratify 
her mother’s ambitious hopes for her advance- 
ment, the despair of the lovers was extreme. 
Unable to endure existence apart from Paul, 
Virginia finally returns, only to perish in a storm 
at sea, within sight of her beloved isle. Paul 
overcome with grief, survives her but a few weeks. 

There is much difference of opinion as to the 
real merits of this work, some critics praising 
its beauties lavishly and others finding the senti- 
ment mawkish and prudish. All, however, agree 


194 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


that this prose poem contains wonderful descrip- 
tive passages painted in words that cannot fail 
to impress. 

This book has gone through edition after edition 
and has been translated into all European lan- 
guages. The pictures of Paul and Virginia most 
often copied are those painted by Cot entitled 
“ The Swing ” and “ The Storm.” 


ATALA 


So dear to heaven is saintly chastity, 

That, when a soul is found sincerely so, 

A thousand liveried angels lackey her, 

Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt.” 

— Milton. 











































































































































































































































































ATALA 


Chateaubriand’s “ Atala,” an epic romance of 
the American Indian, has been termed the “ bar- 
baric ‘ Paul and Virginia.’ ” It was successful 
from the moment it appeared, and the author was 
accorded first place among the men of letters of 
his day. Frangois Auguste, Vicomte de Chateau- 
briand has been styled the father of the romantic 
movement in French literature ; even as Bemardin 
St. Pierre was called the father of the descriptive 
writing of nature. Chateaubriand was influenced 
to a great extent by Rousseau and by St. Pierre. 
His work marks a transition from the classical 
to the romantic school of writing. 

Coming to America in a spirit of adventure, he 
lived for a time with the aborigines in the Canadian 
wilds. After his return to France, he published 
“ Atala,” a dignified though somewhat artificial 
romance, founded on the love of the half-breed 
Atala for Chactas, a young Indian. 

Chactas is made a prisoner by her tribe, but 
Atala falls in love with him and helps him to 
197 


198 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

escape. Wandering through the forest together 
Chactas urges the claims of his love; but Atala 
had previously become a Christian, and, at her 
mother's instigation, had taken a vow of virginity. 
During a storm they seek shelter in the hut of a 
pious hermit to whom Atala confesses her fear 
lest she be tempted to break her oath. The holy 
man tells her that he can release her from her 
vow, but she has already taken poison, and seeks 
only the last offices of the Church. Chactas for 
her sake promises that he will become a Christian ; 
after which Atala receives the consolations of her 
religion and meets her end with fortitude. 

The power of Christianity to subdue love is the 
keynote of the epic. The portion in which 
Chactas recounts the circumstances attending the 
death and burial of Atala is intensely dramatic, 
and its picturesqueness has not failed to make its 
appeal to artists. 

“ Towards night we carried the precious 
remains of this pious saint to the entrance of the 
cell on the north side. The hermit had enveloped 
her in a piece of linen cloth of his mother’s spin- 
ning — the only thing that he had preserved from 
Europe, and which he intended for his own 
shroud. Atala lay stretched on a couch of sensi- 


A tala 


199 


tive plants; her feet, head, and shoulders were 
uncovered, and her hair was adorned with a 
flower of a magnolia; it was the sensitive flower 
which I had placed upon the maiden’s head. 
Her lips, that were like a withered rose, seemed 
endeavoring to smile: dark blue veins appeared 
upon her marble cheeks, her beauteous eyelids 
were closed, her feet were joined, and her alabaster 
hands pressed an ebony crucifix to her heart ; the 
fatal scapulary was suspended on her bosom ; she 
looked as if enchanted by the spirit of melan- 
choly, and resting in the double sleep of innocence 
and death. Her appearance was quite celestial, 
and had any one seen her, and been ignorant that 
she had possessed animation, he would have 
supposed her the statue of virginity. 

“ The pious anchoret ceased not to pray during 
the whole night. I sat in silence at the top of 
Atala’s funeral couch : how often had I supported 
her sleeping head upon my knees, and how often 
had I bent over her beauteous form listening to 
her and inhaling her perfumed breath ; but now 
no soft murmur issued from her motionless bosom, 
and it was in vain that I waited for my beloved to 
awake. The moon supplied her pale light to the 
funeral eve: she rose at midnight, as a fair 


200 The True Lovers' Treasury 

virgin that weeps over the bier of a departed 
friend: it covered the whole scene with a deep 
melancholy, displaying the aged oaks and flowing 
rivers. From time to time the cenobite plunged 
a bunch of flowers into consecrated water, and 
bathed the couch of death with the heavenly dew, 
repeating in a solemn voice some verses from the 
ancient poet Job. 

“ ‘ Man cometh forth like a flower, and is cut 
down ; he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth 
not. 

“ ‘ Wherefore is light given to him that is in 
misery ? and life unto the bitter in soul ? ’ 

“ Thus did the venerable missionary sing; his 
grave and tremulous voice was re-echoed in the 
silent woods, and the name of God and the grave 
was resounded by the neighboring torrents and 
mountains : the sad warbling of the Virginia dove, 
the roaring of the waves, and the bell that called 
travelers, mixed with these funeral chants, and , 
methought I heard in the groves of death the 
departed spirits join the hermit’s voice in mournful 
chorus. The eastern horizon was now fringed 
with gold : sparrow-hawks shrieked on the cliffs, 
and the squirrels hastened into crevices of old 
elms: it was the time appointed for Atala’s 


A tala 


201 


funeral. I carried the corpse upon my shoulders, 
the hermit preceding me with a spade in his hand. 
We descended from one mountain to another: 
old age and death equally retarded our steps. At 
the sight of the dog which had discovered us in the 
forest, and who now leaping with joy followed us 
another road, I could not refrain from tears. 
Often did the golden tresses of Atala, fanned by 
the morning gale obscure my eyes, and often was 
I obliged to deposit my sacred load upon the grass 
to recover my strength. At last we arrived at the 
sad spot : we descended under the bridge. O my 
dear son, what a melancholy sight to see a young 
savage and an old hermit kneeling opposite each 
other busily engaged in digging a grave for an 
innocent virgin, whose corpse lay stretched in a 
dried ravine. 

“When we had finished our dismal task we 
placed the beauteous virgin in her earthly bed : 
alas ! I had hoped to have prepared another couch 
for her. Then taking a little dust in my hand, and 
maintaining the most profound silence I scattered 
it, and for the last time looked at the remains of 
my beloved ; then I spread the earth on a face of 
eighteen years. I saw the lovely features and 
graceful form of my sister gradually disappear 


202 The True Lovers 1 Treasury 

behind the curtain of eternity. Her snowy 
bosom appeared rising under the black clay as a 
lily that lifts its fair head from the dark mold. 
‘ Lopez ! ’ I exclaimed, 1 behold thy son, burying 
his sister ! ’ and I entirely covered Atala with the 
earth of sleep.” 


FRITHIOF AND INGEBORG 


“ So these lives that had run thus far in separate 
channels, 

Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and 
flowing asunder, 

Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and 
nearer, 

Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the 
other.” 


— H. W. Longfellow. 


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FRITHIOF AND INGEBORG 


In the early part of the nineteenth century a 
notable contribution to the romantic literature 
of the day was furnished £>y the Swedish poet 
Esaias T egn£r. Bishop T egn6r found his inspira- 
tion in Icelandic Saga and Norse Mythology. 

One of the most interesting of Tegn^r’s works 
is an epic poem modeled on the Icelandic tale of 
“ Frithiof the Bold. ,, The tale is ascribed to the 
twelfth century, but the author is unknown. 
Tegn^r’s poem consists of a series of stirring bal- 
lads composed in different kinds of verse appro- 
priate to the subject. Longfellow translated a 
part of it and made also a prose paraphrase which 
appeared in “ Drift-Wood.” 

The episodes dealing directly with the love of 
Frithiof and Ingeborg are especially beautiful. 
The author’s own experience of love and courtship 
is believed to have been embodied in these pas- 
sages. Many translations of “ Frithiof’ s Saga ” 
have been made, and the work stands as a monu- 
ment to one of Sweden’s most loved poets. 

205 


206 The True Lovers' Treasury 

Frithiof and Ingeborg pass their childhood 
together in the humble home of their foster-father 
the ancient Hilding. When they arrive at ma- 
turity Frithiof sees in Ingeborg the realization of 
all his dreams, and Ingeborg is glad rejoicing in 
his youth and great prowess. Hilding reminds 
Frithiof that he should not aspire so far above 
him, since Ingeborg is daughter of King Bele and 
he the son of a thane. After the death of the king, 
who looked with favor upon his daughter’s suitor, 
Frithiof asks the hand of Ingeborg; but is scorn- 
fully refused by her brothers. King Ring, an 
aged monarch, seeks Ingeborg in marriage that he 
may give a new queen to his people and a mother 
to his little son. He is also rejected. A fierce 
battle follows in which King Ring is victorious, 
and Ingeborg reluctantly becomes his bride. 

After many adventures on sea and land, 
Frithiof comes to the court of King Ring with the 
desire to look once more upon Ingeborg. The 
king suspects him of treachery ; but, after proving 
his fidelity, urges Frithiof to remain saying, that 
ere long both queen and kingdom shall revert to 
him. Frithiof will not stay, however, and hastens 
preparations for his departure. But even as he 
enters the hall to take his last farewell, Valhalla 


Frithiof and Ingeborg 


207 


claims the old king who meets death with fortitude. 
Frithiof remains only long enough to see the little 
son of King Ring acknowledged as monarch by 
the people, and then hastens away to make atone- 
ment for an early deed of impiety. This done, 
the gods sanction his love and Ingeborg becomes 
his bride. 

The poem is in twenty-four cantos, many of them 
occupied with heroic deeds. The first canto is 
devoted to the circumstances incident to the 
childhood and youth of Frithiof and Ingeborg. 
We watch them at their sports in the open air 
and witness the gradual growth of love in their 
hearts. 


“ Two plants, in Hilding’s garden fair, 

Grew up beneath his fostering care; 

Their match the North had never seen, 

So nobly towered they in the green 1 

M The one shot forth like some broad oak, 

Its trunk a battle lance unbroke; 

But helmet-like the top ascends, 

As heaven’s soft breeze its arched round bends. 

" Like some sweet rose, — bleak winter flown, — 
That other fresh young plant y-shone; 


208 


The True Lovers’ Treasury 


From out this rose spring yet scarce gleameth, 
Within the bud it lies and dreameth. 

“ But cloud-sprung storm round th’ earth shall go, 
That oak then wrestles with his foe ; 

Her heavenly path spring’s sun shall tread, — 
Then opes that rose her lips so red ! 

“ Thus sportful, glad, and green they sprung : 
And Frithiof was that oak the young; 

The rose so brightly blooming there, 

She hight was Ingeborg the fair. 

“ Saw’st thou the two by gold-beamed day, 

To Freja’s courts thy thoughts would stray; 
Where, bright-haired and with rosy pinions, 
Swings many a bride pair, Love’s own minions. 

“ But saw’st thou them, by moonlight’s sheen, 
Dance round beneath the leafy green, 

Thou’dst say, In yon sweet garland grove 
The king and queen of fairies move. 

“ How precious was the prize he earned 
When his first rune the youth had learned ! 

No king’s could his bright glory reach, — 

That letter would he Ing’borg teach. 

“ How gladly at her side steered he 
His barque across the dark blue sea ! 


Frithiof and Ingeborg 


209 


When gaily tacking Frithiof stands, 

How merrily clap her small white hands ! 

“ No birds’ nests yet so lofty were, 

That thither he not climbed for her; 

E’en th’ eagle, as he cloudward swung, 

Was plundered both of eggs and young. 

“ No streamlet’s waters rushed so swift, 

O’er which he would not Ing’borg lift; 

So pleasant feels, when foam-rush ’larms, 

The gentle cling of small white arms ! 

“ The first pale flower that spring had shed, 

The strawberry sweet that first grew red, 

The corn-ear first in ripe gold clad, 

To her he offered, true and glad. 

“But childhood’s days full quickly fly: 

He stands a stripling now, with eye 
Of haughty fire which hopes and prayeth ; 
And she, with budding breast, see ! strayeth. 

“ The chase young Frithiof ceaseless sought; 
Nor oft would hunter so have fought : 

For swordless, spearless all, he’d dare 
With naked strength the savage bear; 

u Then breast to breast they struggled grim ; — 
Though torn, the bold youth masters him ! 


210 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

With shaggy hide now see him laden : 

Such spoils refuse, how can the maiden? 

“ For man’s brave deeds still women wile; 
Strength well is worth young beauty’s smile 
Each other suit they, fitly blending 
Like helm o’er polished brows soft bending 

“ But read he, some cold winter’s night, 

(The fire-hearth’s flaming blaze his light.) 
A song of Valhall’s brightnesses, 

And all its gods and goddesses, — 

“ He’d think, ‘ Yes ! yellow’s Freja’s hair, 

A cornland sea, breeze- waved so fair; 

Sure Ing’borg’s, that like gold-net trembles 
Round rose and lily, hers resembles ! ’ 

“ But the king’s child — all glad her love — 
Sat murmuring hero-songs, and wove 
Th’ adventures that her chief had seen, 

And billows blue, and groves of green; 

“ Slow start from out the wool’s snow-fields 
Round, gold-embroidered, shining shields, 
And battle’s lances flying red, 

And mail-coats stiff with silver thread: 

“But day by day her hero still 

Grows Frithiof like, weave how she will; 


Frithioj and Ingeborg 21 1 

And as his form ’mid th’ armed host rushes, — 
Though deep, yet joyful, are her blushes ! 

“ And Frithiof where his wanderings be, 

Carves I and F i’ th’ tall birch- tree; 

The runes right gladly grow united, 

Their young hearts like by one flame lighted.” 



BAILE AND AILLINN 


“ I hardly hear the curlew cry, 

Nor the grey rush when wind is high, 

Before my thoughts begin to run 
On the heir of Ulad, Buan’s son, 

Baile who had the honey mouth, 

And that mild woman of the south, 

Aillinn, who was King Lugaid’s heir.” 

— W. B. Yeats. 






























































































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BAILE AND AILLINN 


Tucked away among the stories of Cuhulain 
and his heroic deeds, in Lady Gregory’s “ Cuhu- 
lain of Muirthemna,” is the sorrowful tale of 
“ Baile and Aillinn.” Mr. William Butler Yeats 
says in the preface : — “ I think this book is the 
best that has come out of Ireland in my time. 
Perhaps I should say that it is the best book that 
has ever come out of Ireland; for the stories 
which it tells are a chief part of Ireland’s gift to 
the imagination of the world — and it tells them 
perfectly for the first time.” The preface contains 
a reference to the “ romantic and lyrical ” love 
of “ Baile and Aillinn, who died at the report of 
one another’s deaths, and married in Tir-nan- 
oge.” Lady Gregory says of her work, — “I 
have told the whole story in plain and simple 
words, in the same way my old nurse Mary Sheri- 
dan used to be telling stories from the Irish long 
ago, and I a child at Roxborough.” 

“ This, now, is the story of Baile, that was 
buried at that strand (Baile’s Strand). 

215 


216 The True Lovers' Treasury 

“ He was of the race of Rudraige, and although 
he had but little land belonging to him, he was the 
heir of Ulster, and every one that saw him loved 
him, both man and woman, because he was so 
sweet-spoken; and they called him Baile of the 
Honey- Mouth. And the one that loved him best 
was Aillinn, daughter of Lugaidh, the King of 
Leinster’s son. And one time she herself and 
Baile settled to meet one another near Dundealgan, 
beside the sea. Baile was the first to set out, and 
he came from Emain Macha, over Slieve Fuad, 
over Muirthemna, to the strand where they were 
to meet; and he stopped there, and his chariots 
were unyoked, and his horses were let out to 
graze. And while he and his people were waiting 
there they saw a strange, wild-looking man, 
coming towards them from the South, as fast as 
a hawk that darts from a cliff or as the wind that 
blows from off the green sea. ‘ Go and meet 
him,’ said Baile to his people, 4 and ask him news 
of where he is going and where he comes from, 
and what is the reason of his haste.’ So they 
asked news of him, and he said : 1 1 am going 
back now to Tuagh Inbhir, from Slieve Suidhe 
Laighen, and this is all the news I have, that 
Aillinn daughter of Lugaidh, was on her way to 


Baile and Aillinn 


217 


meet Baile, son of Buan, that she loved. And the 
young men of Leinster overtook her, and kept her 
back from going to him, and she died of the heart- 
break there and then. For it was foretold by 
Druids that were friendly to them that they would 
not come together in their lifetime, but that after 
their death they would meet, and be happy 
for ever after.’ And with that he left them, and 
was gone again like a blast of wind, and they were 
not able to hinder him. 

“ And when Baile heard that news, his life 
went out from him, and he fell dead there on the 
strand. 

“ And at that time the young girl Aillinn was in 
her sunny parlour to the south, for she had not set 
out yet. And the same strange man came in to 
her, and she asked him where he came from. 

‘ I come from the North,’ he said, 1 from Tuagh 
Inver, and I am going past this place to Slieve 
Suidhe Laighen. And all the news I have,’ he 
said, ‘ is that I saw the men of Ulster gathered 
together on the strand near Dundealgan, and they 
raising a stone, and writing on it the name of 
Baile, son of Buan, that died there when he was 
on his way to meet the woman he had given his 
love to; for it was not meant for them ever to 


218 The True Lovers' Treasury 

reach one another alive, or that one of them 
should see the other alive.’ And when he had 
said that he vanished away, and as to Aillinn, 
her life went from her, and she died the same way 
that Baile had died. 

“ And an apple-tree grew out of her grave, and 
a yew-tree out of Baile’s grave.” 

In a little book printed in Ireland, more than a 
year later than Lady Gregory’s “ Cuhulain,” Mr. 
Yeats included a poetical version of “ Baile and 
Aillinn.” Between the descriptive stanzas are lyr- 
ical interludes. The argument is given in prose : 
“ Baile and Aillinn were lovers, but Aengus, 
the Master of Love, wishing them to be happy 
in his own land among the dead, told to each a 
story of the other’s death, so that their hearts 
were broken and they died.” The incident of the 
strange man’s meeting with Baile and its tragic 
consequences will give a good idea of the style of 
Mr. Yeat’s poem. 

“ About the time when Christ was born, 

When the long wars for the White Horn 
And the Brown Bull had not yet come, 

Young Baile Honey-Mouth, whom some 
Called rather Baile Little-Land, 

Rode out of Emain with a band 


Baile and Aillinn 


Of harpers and young men, and they 
Imagined, as they struck the way 
To many pastured Muirthemne, 

That all things fell out happily 
And there, for all that fools had said, 
Baile and Aillinn would be wed. 

“ They found an old man running there, 
He had ragged long grass-yellow hair; 

He had knees that stuck out of his hose; 
He had puddle water in his shoes; 

He had half a cloak to keep him dry ; 
Although he had a squirrel’s eye. 

“ That runner said 1 1 am from the south ; 
I run to Baile Honey-Mouth 
To tell him how the girl Aillinn 
Rode from the country of her kin 
And old and young men rode with her : 
For all that country had been astir 
If anybody half as fair 
Had chosen a husband anywhere 
But where it could see her every day. 
When they had ridden a little way 
An old man caught the horse’s head 
With “ You must home again and wed 
With somebody in your own land.” 

A young man cried and kissed her hand 
“ O lady, wed with one of us; ” 

And when no face grew piteous 


220 The True Lovers' Treasury 

For any gentle thing she spake 
She fell and died of the heart-break. * 

“ Because a lover’s heart’s worn out 
Being tumbled and blown about 
By its own blind imagining, 

And will believe that anything 
That is bad enough to be true is true, 

Baile’s heart was broken in two; ” 

The close of the poem is especially quaint 
and pretty, — 

“ And poets found, old writers say, 

A yew tree where his body lay, 

But a wild apple hid the grass 
With its sweet blossom where hers was; 

And being in good heart, because 
A better time had come again 
After the deaths of many men, 

And that long fighting at the ford, 

They wrote on tablets of thin board, 

Made of the apple and the yew, 

All the love stories that they knew.” 


ROMEO AND JULIET 


“ For never was a story of more woe 
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.” 

— Shakespeare. 







ROMEO AND JULIET 

The scene of the best known love story of the 
English speaking world of to-day was laid in 
Italy, many centuries ago. Shakespeare has con- 
ferred immortality upon this pair of lovers by 
giving to each characteristics which all lovers 
recognize as readily as they do their own sensa- 
tions and impulses. The theme is universal. 
Romeo strikes the key-note in the first act when 
he says, — “ Here’s much to do with hate but 
more with love.” The great wall of hate erected 
by the Montagues and Capulets cannot avail to 
separate the destinies of the lovers. 

The first meeting takes place at a festival. The 
tragic events which follow so quickly are fore- 
shadowed by Romeo when he decides to go to 
the Capulet ball. 

“ My mind misgives 

Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, 

Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 

With this night’s revels.” 

223 


224 The True Lovers' Treasury 

From this moment we know that fate will not 
deal kindly with the lovers and they themselves 
frequently express this fear. When Romeo loses 
his heart at the sight of the fair Juliet and at the 
same time makes the discovery that she is a 
daughter of the rival house he exclaims, — 

“ Is she a Capulet ? 

O dear account ! my life is my foe’s debt.” 

Juliet, on the same night, making a similar 
discovery, says, 

“ My only love sprung from my only hate ! 

Too early seen unknown, and known too late ! ” 

On the morning after Romeo is banished Juliet 
prophesies his death : — 

“ O God ! I have an ill-divining soul ; 

Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, 

As one dead in the bottom of a tomb ! ” 

At the time of their marriage Friar Laurence 
seems to share their presentiment of approaching 
doom. He appeals to heaven to smile upon the 
act, — “ That after hours with sorrow chide us 


Romeo and Juliet 225 

not ! ” And again he says, — “ These violent 
delights have violent ends.” 

All through the play the destinies of the lovers 
appear to be determined by fate. After the final 
catastrophe Friar Laurence expresses this thought 
when he says: — 

“ A greater power than we can contradict 
Hath thwarted our intents.” 

The play of Romeo and Juliet is one of the 
most poetical of Shakespeare’s dramas. The 
Italian atmosphere is conducive to the creative 
imagination. Beautiful images and lovely thoughts 
are a part of everyday existence under southern 
skies. Dowden says, “ The external atmosphere 
of the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, its Italian 
colour and warmth, have been so finely felt by 
M. Philarete Chasles that his words deserve to 
be a portion of every criticism of that play.” A 
translation of a few passages from this author will 
not then be out of place. 

“ Who cannot recall lovely summer nights 
when the forces of nature seem ripe for develop- 
ment and yet sunk in drowsy languor — intense 
heat mingled with exuberant vigour, fervid force, 
and silent freshness? 


226 The True Lovers' Treasury 

“ The nightingale’s song comes from the depths 
of the grove. The flower-cups are half closed. 
A pale lustre illumines the foliage of the forest 
and the outline of the hills. This profound repose 
conceals, we feel, a fertile force; beneath the 
retiring melancholy of nature lies hidden burning 
emotion. Beneath the pallor and coolness of 
night we divine restrained ardours; each flower 
brooding in silence is longing to bloom forth. 

“ Such is the peculiar atmosphere with which 
Shakespeare has enveloped one of his most 
wonderful creations, Romeo and Juliet . 

“ Not only the story upon which the drama is 
founded, but the very form of the language comes 
from the South. Italy was the inventor of the 
tale; it breathes the very spirit of her national 
records, her old family feuds, the amorous and 
bloody intrigues which fill her annals. No one 
can fail to recognize Italy in its lyric rythm, its 
blindness of passion, its blossoming and abundant 
vitality, in its brilliant imagery, its bold composi- 
tion. Romeo’s words flow like one of Petrarch’s 
sonnets, with a like delicate choice, a like antith- 
esis, a like grace, and a like delight in clothing 
his passion in tender allegory. Juliet, too, is 
wholly Italian ; with small gift of forethought, and 


Romeo and Juliet 


227 

absolutely ingenuous in her abandon , she is at once 
passionate and pure.” 

In her “ Characteristics of Women ” Mrs. 
Jameson says of this play: — 

“ It is in truth a tale of love and sorrow, not of 
anguish and terror. We behold the catastrophe 
afar off with scarcely a wish to avert it. Romeo 
and Juliet must die; their destiny is fulfilled; 
they have quaffed off the cup of life, with all its 
infinite of joys and agonies, in one intoxicating 
draught. What have they to do more upon this 
earth? Young, innocent, loving and beloved, 
they descend together into the tomb : but Shake- 
speare has made that tomb a shrine of martyred 
and sainted affection consecrated for the worship 
of all hearts, not a dark charnel vault, haunted by 
spectres of pain, rage, and desperation. Romeo 
and Juliet are pictured lovely in death as in life; 
the sympathy they inspire does not oppress us 
with that suffocating sense of horror, which in 
the altered tragedy makes the fall of the curtain 
a relief ; but all pain is lost in the tenderness and 
poetic beauty of the picture.” 

It is not necessary for us to consider the source 
of this drama ; it is sufficient for us to know that, 
wherever Shakespeare found the story, he made it 


228 


The True Lovers 9 Treasury 


irrevocably his. It bears the stamp of his genius, 
he has given it dramatic force interwoven with 
poetic imagery. It is Shakespeare’s “ Romeo 
and Juliet ” that will live when the works from 
which it sprung are forgotten. 

There have been many famous Juliets since 
Shakespeare’s day. It is the aim of every young 
emotional actress to portray this character, but 
as has often been said, to enact Juliet properly 
years of experience are required which too fre- 
quently unfit the actress to represent Juliet’s 
youthful charms. It is for this reason that the 
list of successful Juliets is not longer. 

“ Romeo and Juliet ” supplied the theme for one 
of Gounod’s greatest productions. The opera 
is a favorite and has been eminently successful. 
It follows closely the text of Shakespeare’s play. 
Bellini has also composed an opera upon this 
subject. Berlioz’s dramatic fifth symphony, dedi- 
cated to Paganini, is entitled “ Romeo and Juliet.” 

Many artists, more or less famous, have painted 
scenes from “ Romeo and Juliet.” They have 
given us numerous representations of the balcony 
scene, the scene in Friar Laurence’s cell, and 
the death scene. The painting of the balcony 
scene by T. F* Dicksee has been much copied. 


Romeo and Juliet 


229 

The lovers look rather more mature than Shake- 
speare’s text would warrant. A little poem by 
Richard Le Gallienne which he calls “ Juliet 
and her Romeo ” seems to have been written to 
send with a copy of Mr. Dicksee’s picture. 

“ Take 1 this of Juliet and her Romeo/ 

Dear Heart of mine, for though yon budding sky 
Yearns o’er Verona, and so long ago 
That kiss was kissed; yet surely Thou and I, 
Surely it is, whom morning tears apart, 

As ruthless men tear tendrilled ivy down: 

Is not Verona warm within thy gown, 

And Mantua all the world save where thou art? 

“ O happy grace of lovers of old time, 

Living to love like gods, and dead to live 
Symbols and saints for us who follow them ; 

Even bitter Death must sweets to lovers give : 

See how they wear their tears for diadem, 
Throned on the star of an unshaken rhyme.” 




ELIZABETH AND TANNHAUSER 


“ Full fair she grew, 

And all men loved the rare Elizabeth; 

But she, of all men, loved one man the most, 
Tannhauser, minstrel, knight, the man in whom 
All mankind flowered.” 


Owen Meredith. 














cfcjki 


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ELIZABETH AND TANNHAUSER 


The theme of the great music drama of Tann- 
hauser as told by Wagner is love triumphant over 
sin, or the salvation of a soul through love. The 
plot hinges upon the circumstance of a trial of 
skill among the Minnesingers at the court of the 
Landgrave of Thuringia as to which shall sing 
of love most worthily. The winner is to be 
crowned by the niece of the Landgrave, Eliza- 
beth, whose love is given to Tannhauser and who 
is secretly pledged to him. Tannhauser sings of 
the love of the senses in such a manner as to 
betray his dalliance with Venus in her under- 
ground home, and is in consequence driven out of 
the hall by the other bards. They would have 
killed him but for the intercession of Elizabeth, 
who begs that he may be spared in order to repent 
of his sin. Tannhauser makes a pilgrimage to 
Rome to implore pardon of the Pope which is 
refused. 

“ 1 Hast thou within the nets of Satan lain ? 

Hast thou thy soul to her perdition pledged ? 

233 


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The True Lovers ’ Treasury 


Hast thou thy lip to Hell’s Enchantress lent, 

To drain damnation from her reeking cup? 
Then know that sooner from the withered staff 
That in my hand I hold green leaves shall spring, 
Than from the brand in hell-fire scorched rebloom 
The blossoms of salvation.’ ” 

— Owen Meredith. 

He returns to Thuringia utterly disheartened, 
intending to give himself up to Venus, since there 
is no further hope for him in heaven or on earth ; 
but is saved by learning that Elizabeth has died 
for his sake and will be able to win his salvation 
at the last. As the funeral procession of Eliza- 
beth approaches he throws himself upon her 
bier and expires, praying with his last breath for 
her intercession. 

In this drama we find a curious blending of 
paganism and Christianity. Although not founded 
upon any particular myth, the plot rests upon 
German mythological beliefs embodied in the 
folk-tales which have been handed down chiefly 
in the ballad form. In the old ballad, as in the 
later versions, the hero is a real character, a poet 
of the thirteenth century. Enslaved by Venus, 
Tannhauser remained for a year in her enchanted 
abode known as the Venusberg. Becoming tired 


Elizabeth and Tannhauser 


2 35 


of the sensual life he longed to return to earth, 
and implored Venus to release him. She refused 
again and again, but when he appealed to the 
Virgin Mary for deliverance, the goddess gave a 
reluctant consent. 

“ Now hath he left the Venusberg 
In grief and sorrow sore; 

1 1 will to Rome to seek the Pope, 

And pardon there implore. 

“ ‘ And gladly will I wend my way, 

God ruleth over all; 

I seek a Pope, Urban his name, 

To raise me from my fall. 

“ ‘ Ah ! hear me, good my lord the Pope, 

My guilt I mourn to-day, 

How I, in this my life, have sinned 
I fain to thee would say. 

" ‘ A whole year long with Venus fair 
I dwelt — Ah ! woe is me — 

Now I confess, and penance crave 
That I God’s face may see.’ 

“ A staff the Pope held in his hand, 

’Twas dead, and dry, and brown — 

* This staff shall bud and bloom again 
Ere grace to thee be shown ! ’ 


The True Lovers’ Treasury 

Now might I live upon this earth 
A year, but one short year, 

In pain and penance sore I’d strive 
Till God my prayer should hear ! * 

So passed the knight from out the town 
In grief and woe of heart — 

Ah ! Mary Mother, maiden mild, 

From thee I now must part.’ 

He goeth to the Venusberg 
For all eternity — 

To Venus must I take my way, 

For God, He sendeth me ! ’ 

‘ Welcome to thee, thou goodly knight, 

In sooth I mourned thee sore; 

Tannhauser ! welcome to my arms, 

My lover evermore.’ 

Now scarcely had the third day dawned, 

The staff grew green and bright; 

The Pope, he sendeth through the land 
To seek the wandering knight. 

But he hath sought the Venusberg, 

Hath chosen his love for aye — 

And Pope Urban’s soul shall be counted lost, 
Cometh the Judgment Day ! ” 


Elizabeth and Tannhauser 


237 


Wagner’s ending of the story makes a more 
fitting conclusion to a great moral drama, and is 
more in keeping with the spirit of modern Chris- 
tianity which teaches that the greatest sinner 
who is truly repentant may receive forgive- 
ness. 

Owen Meredith has poetized the story in his 
“ Battle of the Bards,” following closely the 
legend as immortalized by Wagner. Wolfram 
von Eschenbach a minstrel of the Landgrave’s 
court, recognizes Tannhauser upon his return 
disguised as a pilgrim, and at Wolfram’s entreaty 
Tannhauser tells of the failure of his mission and 
of his despair. Wolfram in turn relates the sad 
story of Elizabeth’s death and begs him to believe 
that her angel is pleading for him before the 
Throne. 

“ Far in the Aurorean East 
The ruddy sun, uprising, sharply smote 
A golden finger on the airy harps 
By Morning hung within her leafy bowers; 

And all about the budded dells, and woods 
With sparkling-tasselled tops, from birds and brooks 
A hundred hallelujahs hailed the light. 

The whitethorn glistened from the wakening glen: 
O’er golden gravel danced the dawning rills: 

All the delighted leaves by copse and glade 


238 The True Lovers' Treasury 

Gambolled ; and breezy bleatings came from flocks 
Far off in pleasant pastures fed with dew. 

“ But whilst, unconscious of the silent change 
Thus stolen around him, o’er the dying bard 
Hung Wolfram, on the breeze there came a sound 
Of mourning moving down the narrow glen; 

And, looking up, he suddenly was ’ware 
Of four white maidens, moving in the van 
Of four black monks who bore upon her bier 
The flower-strewn corpse of young Elizabeth. 
And after these, from all the castled hills, 

A multitude of lieges and of lords ; 

A multitude of men-at-arms, with all 
Their morions hung with mourning ; and in midst 
His worn cheek channelled with unwonted tears, 
The Landgrave, weeping for Elizabeth. 

These, as the sad procession nearer wound, 

And nearer, trampling bare the feathery weed 
To where Sir Wolfram rested o’er his friend, 
Tannhauser caught upon his dying gaze ; 

And caught, perchance, upon the inward eye, 

Far, far beyond the corpse, the bier, and far 
Beyond the widening circle x)f the sun, 

Some sequel of that vision Wolfram saw: 

The crowned Spirit by the Jasper Gates; 

The four white Angels o’er the walls of Heaven, 
The shores where* tideless, sleep the seas of 
Time 

Soft by the City of the Saints of God. 


Elizabeth and Tannhauser 


239 


“ Forth, with the strength that lastly comes to break 
All bonds, from Wolfram’s folding arm he leapt, 
Clambered the pebbly path, and, groaning, fell 
Flat on the bier of love — his bourn at last ! 

Then, even then, while question question chased 
About the ruffled circle of that grief, 

And all was hubbub by the bier, a noise 
Of shouts and hymns brake in across the hills, 
That now o’erfiowed with hurrying feet ; and came, 
Dashed to the hip with travel, and dewed with 
haste, 

A flying post, and in his hand he bore 
A withered staff o’erflourished with green leaves; 
Who, — followed by a crowd of youth and eld, 
That sang to stun with sound the lark in heaven, 

* A miracle ! a miracle from Rome ! 

Glory to God that makes the bare bough green ! ’ — 
Sprang in the midst, and, hot for answer, asked 
News of the Knight Tannhauser. 

“ Then a monk 

Of those that, stoled in sable, bore the bier 
Pointing, with sorrowful hand, ‘ Behold the man ! * 
But straight the other, ‘ Glory be to God ! 

This from the Vicar of the fold of Christ : 

The withered staff hath flourished into leaves, 

The brand shall bloom, though burned with fire, 
and thou 

— Thy soul from sin be saved ! 9 To whom, with 
tears 


240 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

That flashed from lowering lids, Wolfram replied : 
* To him a swifter message, from a source 
Mightier than whence thou comest, hath been 
vouchsafed, 

See these stark hands, blind eyes, and bloodless lips, 
This shattered remnant of a once fair form, 

Late home of desolation, now the husk 
And ruined chrysalis of a regal spirit 
That up to heaven hath parted on the wing! 

But thou, to Rome returning with hot speed, 

Tell the high Vicar of the Fold of Christ 

How that lost sheep his rescuing hand would reach, 

Although by thee unfound, is found indeed, 

And in the Shepherd’s bosom lies at peace.’ 

“ And they that heard him lifted up the voice 
And wept. But they that stood about the hills 
Far off, not knowing, ceased not to cry out, 

1 Glory to God that makes the bare bough green ! 9 
Till Echo, from the inmost heart of all 
That mellowing morn blown open like a rose 
To round and ripen to the perfect noon, 
Resounded, 1 Glory ! glory ! ’ and the rocks 
From glen to glen rang, ‘ Glory unto God ! ’ ” 

— Owen Meredith . 


TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 


“ Friendship is constant in all other things, 

Save in the office and affairs of love : 

Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues 
Let every eye negotiate for itself, 

And trust no agent. — ” 


— Shakespeare. 








TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 


The romance of “ Tristram and Iseult ” has 
been aptly characterized as the “ apotheosis of 
earthly passion,” and it is assuredly the most 
popular of the mediaeval love stories. It is 
difficult to trace this tale to its source. It is 
believed to have had its beginning in the seventh 
century, although the story as we know it is attrib- 
uted to the latter part of the twelfth century ; and 
is found in the literature of France, Germany, and 
England, as well as in that of Scandinavia, Italy, 
and Spain. Many of the best authorities agree 
that it is of Celtic origin ; and since a considerable 
part of the action takes place in Ireland, it seems 
highly probable. The earliest versions were 
undoubtedly poetical; from the songs of the 
German minnesingers, British bards, and French 
trouveres epic poems were evolved; and later 
Malory gathered up these scattered threads 
and added them to his Morte d’Arthur. The 
names of the lovers in the different stories are 
as various as the literatures they represent. We 


244 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

find the heroine’s name spelled Iseult, Yseult, 
and Isolde, and the hero’s Tristram, Tristrem, 
and Tristan. 

Reduced to its simplest form the story deals with 
the love of Iseult for Tristram, who is sent as 
proxy by King Mark to bring Iseult of Ireland 
to Cornwall to share his throne. The mother 
of Iseult entrusts a magic love-potion to Brang- 
wain the maid who accompanies Iseult on her 
journey, to be given to King Mark and his bride 
on their wedding night. By a fatal mistake the 
philtre is drunk by Tristram and Iseult, and from 
that moment their love defies all obstacles. When 
the king discovers their treachery, he banishes 
Tristram to Brittany, where he is ere long wedded 
to another Iseult, called “ Iseult of the white 
hand.” Hearing that Tristram is sick unto 
death, Iseult of Ireland hastens to him; but 
arriving after he has breathed his last, dies at his 
side. 

Poets have availed themselves of the wealth of 
material clustering about this theme; and to-day 
we have metrical romances and idyls without 
number, among them, Matthew Arnold’s “ Tris- 
tram and Iseult,” Swinburne’s “ Tristram of 
Lyonesse,” and Tennyson’s “ Last Tournament.” 


Tristram and Iseult 


245 


Sir Walter Scott, in 1804, issued an edition of 
“ Tristram ” with much explanatory text. In a 
note prefacing “ Part Third ” of his ballad of 
“ Thomas the Rhymer,” Scott tells us that 
Thomas the bard of Ercildoune was renowned 
among his contemporaries as the author of the 
celebrated romance of Sir Tristrem. He further 
states that so great was the reputation of this ro- 
mance, that few were thought capable of reciting 
it after the manner of the author. In the narra- 
tive poem which follows, Thomas the Rhymer 
appears as minstrel at a feast spread in Ercildoune, 
and to Iseult of Ireland he gives the appellation 
of the “ lilye hand.” 

“ True Thomas rose, with harp in hand, 

Whenas the feast was done: 

(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land, 

The elfin harp he won.) 

“ Hush’d were the throng, both limb and tongue, 
And harpers for envy pale; 

And armed lords lean’d on their swords, 

And hearkn’d to the tale. 

“ In numbers high, the witching tale 
The prophet poured along; 


246 The True Lovers' Treasury 

No after bard might e’er avail 
Those numbers to prolong. 

“ Yet fragments of the lofty strain 
Float down the tide of years, 

As, buoyant on the stormy main, 

A parted wreck appears. 

“ He sang King Arthur’s Table Round: 
The Warrior of the Lake; 

How courteous Gawaine met the wound, 
And bled for ladies’ sake. 

" But chief, in gentle Tristrem’s praise, 
The notes melodious ^well ; 

Was none excelled in Arthur’s days, 

The knight of Lionelle. 

“ For Marke, his cowardly uncle’s right, 

A venom ’d wound he bore; 

When fierce Morholde he slew in fight, 
Upon the Irish shore. 

“ No art the poison might withstand ; 

No medicine could be found, 

Till lovely Isolde’s lily hand 

Had probed the rankling wound. 

“ With gentle hand and soothing tongue 
She bore the leech’s part; 


Tristram and Iseult 


247 


And, while she o’er his sick-bed hung, 

He paid her with his heart. 

“ O fatal was the gift, I ween ! 

For, doom’d in evil tide, 

The maid must be rude Cornwall’s queen, 
His cowardly uncle’s bride. 

“ Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard, 

In fairy tissue wove; 

Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright, 
In gay confusion strove. 

“ The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale, 

High rear’d its glittering head; 

And Avalon’s enchanted vale 
In all its wonders spread. 

“ Brangwain was there, and Segramore, 

And fiend-born Merlin’s gramarye; 

Of that famed wizard’s mighty lore, 

O who could sing but he? 

“ Through many a maze the winning song 
In changeful passion led, 

Till bent at length the listening throng 
O’er Tristrem’s dying bed. 

“ His ancient wounds their scars expand, 

With agony his heart is wrung: 


248 The True Lovers' Treasury 

O where is Isolde’s lilye hand, 

And where her soothing tongue? 

“ She comes ! she comes ! — like flash of flame 
Can lovers’ footsteps fly: 

She comes ! she comes ! — she only came 
To see her Tristrem die. 

“ She saw him die; her latest sigh 

Join’d in a kiss his parting breath, 

The gentlest pair, that Britain bare, 

United are in death. 

“ There paused the harp : its lingering sound 
Died slowly on the ear; 

The silent guests still bent around, 

For still they seemed to hear. 

“ Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak: 

Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh ; 

But half ashamed, the rugged cheek 
Did many a gauntlet dry.” 

Wagner’s music drama of “ Tristan and Isolde ” 
follows more nearly the German epic of Gottfried 
von Strassburg, written in the thirteenth century. 
The story as related by Gottfried is too compli- 
cated to be confined in the limits of a single per- 
formance, but from this epic Wagner has selected 


Tristram and Iseult 


249 

such episodes as are best suited to the making 
of an opera. 

It is interesting to note some of the character- 
istic differences of the best-known versions. 
Wagner makes “ Isolde ” give “ Tristan ” the 
love-potion by mistake, instead of the death- 
drink which she had prepared to avenge the death 
of Morold, to whom she had been betrothed. 
Miss Weston in her “ Legends of the Wagner 
Drama ” explains the significance of the love- 
philtre: “ Traditionally, the love of Tristan and 
Isolde is the result of the love-potion and of that 
alone; previously Isolde was bitterly incensed 
against Tristan, and Tristan was indifferent to 
Isolde. Dramatically, the effect of the love-drink 
is to quicken into full and conscious life and 
flower a seed already germinating. Psychologic- 
ally, it is the near presence of death, believed by 
both to be imminent, which reveals the heart' of 
each to the other and to themselves — face to 
face with death men speak the truth, so Tristan 
and Isolde drink the cup of death, and it operates 
to the revelation of love.” 

Tennyson omits the episode altogether, and 
does not even mention the potion. Matthew 
Arnold refers to it as, — 


250 


The True Lovers’ Treasury 


“ That spiced magic draught, 

Which since then forever rolls 
Through their blood, and binds their souls, 
Working love, but working teen.” 

And again, — 

“ ‘ Sir Tristram, of thy courtesy 
Pledge me in my golden cup ! ’ 

Let them drink it — let their hands 
Tremble, and their cheeks be flame, 

As they feel the fatal bands 
Of a love they dare not name, 

With a wild delicious pain, 

Twine about their hearts again.” 

The death of Tristram is also variously re- 
counted. In Gottfried’s epic “ Tristan ” escapes; 
in “ The Last Tournament ” he is killed by King 
Mark; Matthew Arnold’s Tristram dies in 
Brittany ministered to in his dying hour by both 
Iseults; in the opera, King Mark having dis- 
covered the secret of the philtre, arrives with 
his forgiveness, only to hear the death-song of 
“ Isolde ” who expires on the dead body of “ Tris- 
tan.” In “ Tristram of Lyonesse ” Swinburne 
makes use of the classic incident of the white 
and black sails on the ship which was to bring 


Tristram and Iseult 


251 


Iseult of Ireland to her dying lover. Tristram 
says to the maiden whom he has wedded, Iseult 
of Brittany, the “ white-handed Iseult ” who 
never had his love : 

“ ‘ When the sea-line takes the sun 
That now should be not far off sight from far, 

Look if there come not with the morning star 
My ship bound hither from the northward back, 

And if the sail be white thereof or black.’ 

“ And knowing the soothfast sense of his desire 
So sore the heart within her raged like fire 
She could not wring forth of her lips a word, 

But bowing made sign how humbly had she heard. 


“ And Tristram lay at thankful rest, and thought 
Now surely life nor death could grieve him aught, 
Since past was now life’s anguish as a breath, 
And surely past the bitterness of death. 


“ And high from heaven suddenly rang the lark, 
Triumphant ; and the far first refluent ray 
Filled all the hollow darkness full with day. 

And on the deep sky’s verge a fluctuant light 
Gleamed, grew, shone, strengthened into perfect sight, 
As bowed and dipped and rose again the sail’s clear 
white. 


252 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

And swift and steadfast as a sea-mew’s wing 
It neared before the wind, as fain to bring 
Comfort, and shorten yet its narrowing track. 

And she that saw looked hardly toward him back, 
Saying, 1 Ay, the ship comes surely; but her sail 
black.’ 

And fain he would have sprung upright, and seen, 
And spoken : but strong death struck sheer between, 
And darkness closed as iron around his head : 

And smitten through the heart lay Tristram dead.” 


ELAINE 


After heaven, on our dull side of death, 
What should be best, if not so pure a love 
Clothed in so pure a loveliness? ” 


— T ennyson. 
































































































































































































































































































































ELAINE 


Tennyson’s “ Idylls of the King ” exquisitely 
reflect the spirit of romanticism which Malory 
has set forth in the “ Morte d’ Arthur,” and which 
was earlier manifested in the British and Irish 
legends clustering about King Arthur and his 
Knights of the Round Table. This chaotic mass 
was given permanent form by the early French 
writers. The French trouveres carried these 
stories into the surrounding European countries, 
and the earliest prose tales of Italy, the “ Hundred 
Ancient Tales,” were many of them formed on 
Arthurian legend. The exact time of their pro- 
duction is not known, some of them being attrib- 
uted to the thirteenth century, while others were 
as late as Dante’s time. One of these tales 
which undoubtedly greatly antedates the work of 
Sir Thomas Malory is particularly interesting as 
it contains the germ of Tennyson’s beautiful 
lyric, “ The Lady of Shalott,” which he later 
elaborated in the idyll, “ Elaine.” 

2 55 


256 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

“ A daughter of the great Barbarosso became 
passionately attached to Launcelot of the Lake; 
but so far from returning her love, he bestowed 
all his affections on the fair Queen Ginevra. To 
such a degree did her unhappy attachment arise, 
that she at length fell a victim to it, and died, 
leaving a bequest, that as soon as her soul had 
departed, her body should be transported on 
board a barge fitted up for the purpose, with 
a rich couch, and adorned with velvet stuffs, and 
precious stones and ornaments ; and thus arrayed 
in her proudest attire, with a bright golden crown 
upon her brows, she was to be borne alone to the 
place of residence of her beloved. Beneath her 
silver zone was found a letter to the following 
tenor; but we must first mention what ought to 
precede the letter itself. Everything was exactly 
fulfilled as she had appointed, respecting the 
vessel without a sail or oars, helmsman, or hands 
to guide her; and so, fraught with its lifeless 
freight, it was launched upon the open waves. 
Thus she was borne along by the winds, which 
conveyed her direct to Camalot, where the barge 
rested of itself upon the banks. 

“ A rumour immediately spread through the 
court, and a vast train of barons and cavaliers 


Elaine 


257 


ran out of the palace, followed soon by King 
Arthur himself. They stood mute with astonish- 
ment, on observing the strange vessel there, 
without a voice or a hand to stir her out of the 
dead calm in which she lay. The King was the 
first to set foot upon her side, and he there beheld 
the gentle lady surrounded with the pomp of 
death. He too first unclasped the zone, and cast 
his eye over the letter, directed — ‘To all the 
Knights of the Round Table, greeting, from the 
* poor lady of Scalot, who invokes long health and 
fortune for the proudest lances in the world. Do 
they wish to learn how I am thus fearfully brought 
before them? Let my last hand witness that it 
was, at once, for the sake of the noblest and vilest 
of the cavaliers of the land — for the proud 
Knight, Launcelot of the Lake. For neither 
tears nor sighs of mine availed with him to have 
compassion on my love. And thus, alas, you 
behold me dead, — fallen a victim only for loving 
too true.’ ” 

— Cento Novelle Antiche , Thomas Roscoe ( trans .). 

Tennyson’s well-known rendering of the “ Lady 
of Shalott ” gives us in the closing lines a glimpse 
of the knights as they came out from the palace 


258 The True Lovers' Treasury 

to see what the silent barge was bringing to 
Camelot. 

“ Under tower and balcony, 

By garden-wall and gallery, 

A gleaming shape she floated by, 

Dead-pale between the houses high, 

Silent into Camelot. 

Out upon the wharfs they came, 

Knight and burgher, lord and dame, 

And round the prow they read her name, 

The Lady of Shalott. 

“ Who is this ? and what is here ? 

And in the lighted palace near 
Died the sound of royal cheer; 

And they cross’d themselves for fear, 

All the knights at Camelot: 

But Lancelot mused a little space; 

He said, ‘ She has a lovely face; 

God in his mercy lend her grace, 

The Lady of Shalott.’ ” 

In “ Elaine ” or “ Lancelot and Elaine ” as it 
is called, Tennyson follows closely Malory’s 
version. In the “ Morte d’ Arthur ” we read that 
Sir Lancelot, desiring to go unknown into a 
tournament, besought a certain lord “ hight Sir 
Bernard of Astolat ” to lend him “ a shield that 


Elaine 


259 


were not openly known, for mine is too much 
known.” Sir Bernard gladly complied with the 
knight’s request, and the baron’s daughter, “called 
the fair maid of Astolat . . . cast such a love 
unto Sir Launcelot — that she could not withdraw 
her love, wherefore she died ; and her name was 
Elaine le Blaunch.” This fair maid urged 
Lancelot to wear at the jousts a token of hers. 
At first he refused as it was not his custom to 
wear a lady’s favor in the fists, but Elaine an- 
swered : 


“ ‘ Then in wearing mine 
Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord, 

That those who know should know you.’ 

And he turn’d 

Her counsel up and down within his mind, 

And found it true, and answered, ‘ true, my child. 
Well, I will wear it : fetch it out to me : 

What is it ? ’ and she told him 1 a red sleeve 
Broider’d with pearls,’ and brought it: then he 
bound 

Her token on his helmet, with a smile 
Saying, ‘ I never yet have done so much 
For any maiden living.’ ” 

After Sir Lancelot’s return, victorious, from 
the tournament, Elaine confessed her love; but 
Lancelot said: 


260 The True Lovers' Treasury 

“ ‘ Had I chosen to wed, 

I had been wedded earlier, sweet Elaine: 

But now there never will be wife of mine.’ ” 

At the request of her father Lancelot goes away 
without bidding the maiden farewell, hoping by 
this discourtesy to wean her from her love. 

“ So in her tower alone the maiden sat : 

His very shield was gone; only the case, 

Her own poor work, her empty labor, left. 


“ And in those days she made a little song, 

And call’d her song ‘ The Song of Love and Death,’ 
And sang it : sweetly could she make and sing. 

‘ Sweet is true love tho’ given in vain, in vain ; 
And sweet is death who puts an end to pain : 

I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. 

“ ‘ Love, art thou sweet ? then bitter death must 
be: 

Love, thou art bitter; sweet is death to me. 

0 Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. 

Sweet love, that seems not made to fade away, 
Sweet death, that seems to make us loveless clay, 

1 know not which is sweeter, no, not I. 

‘“I fain would follow love, if that could be; 

I needs must follow death, who calls for me ; 

Call and I follow, I follow ! let me die.’ ” 


Elaine 


261 


The last scene follows all too quickly. Turning 
to Malory we read once more from the “ Book of 
Elaine : ” “ Now speak we of the fair maid of 
Astolat, which made such sorrow day and night, 
that she never slept, eat, nor drank ; and always 
she made her complaint unto Sir Launcelot. So 
when she had thus endured about ten days, that 
she felt that she must needs pass out of this world.” 

Then with a letter in her hand addressed to 
Lancelot, her sorrowing father and her two 
brothers laid her on her chariot bier and bore her 
through the field to the border of the stream 
where the funeral barge lay, in charge of the 
dumb servitor of the house. 

“ So those two brethren from the chariot took 
And on the black decks laid her in her bed, 

Set in her hand a lily, o’er her hung 
The silken case with braided blazonings, 

And kissed her quiet brows, and saying to her 
* Sister, farewell for ever,’ and again 
‘ Farewell, sweet sister,’ parted all in tears. 

Then rose the dumb old servitor, and the dead 

Steer’d by the dumb went upward with the flood — 

In her right hand the lily, in her left 

The letter — all her bright hair streaming down — 

And all the coverlid was cloth of gold 

Drawn to her waist, and she herself in white 


262 The True Lovers 9 Treasury 

All but her face, and that clear-featured face 
Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead 
But fast asleep, and lay as tho’ she smiled.” 

— T ennyson. 

The barge and its accompaniments as described 
by Tennyson forms the subject of a beautiful 
painting by Toby Rosenthal. Mr. Rosenthal, 
although an American by birth, has done most of 
his work in Munich. “ The Burial of Elaine ” is 
one of his best known pictures. A much copied 
painting by J. M. Strudwick, a disciple of the 
Pre-Raphaelite school, represents Elaine seated 
on a richly carved chest, looking earnestly and 
lovingly at the shield of Lancelot which she has 
in her keeping. The picture shows the elaborate- 
ness of detail for which artists of that school are 
noted. 


LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE 


“ One day 

For our delight, we read of Lancelot, 
How him love thralled.” 


— Dante . 
















LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE 

The scenes of Arthurian romance were laid 
chiefly on British soil; but as the stories passed 
through the medium of French transcription 
they lost much of their native coloring and became 
almost wholly French in character. As one 
commentator has remarked : “It is the French- 
man whom the stories represent; to Britain is 
due little more than a scene and an opportunity.” 
The tale of Lancelot’s love for Guinevere is of 
purely French origin. It plays an important 
part in the writings of Walter Map and of Chr6s- 
tien de Troyes, and later Malory incorporated it 
in the Morte d’Arthur. 

From the confused mass of material which 
clusters about the story of Lancelot and Guinevere 
it is difficult to evolve a conception of these 
characters which shall be at all consistent. In 
Malory and the old French romances there is 
no attempt made to palliate the sin by which they 
fell. Tennyson, in the “ Idylls,” creates sym- 
pathy for the lovers by the simple device of throw- 
265 


266 


The True Lovers’ Treasury 


ing them into each other’s society, in the first 
flush of spring, and before Guinevere’s first 
meeting with the king. Arthur, having made 
terms with King Leodogran for the hand of his * 
daughter Guinevere, sent his most loved and 
trusted knight to bring her to the court. 

“ Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he 
loved 

And honor’d most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth 

And bring the Queen; — and watch’d him from 
the gates: 

And Lancelot past away among the flowers, 

(For then was latter April) and return’d 

Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere.” 

The story is most often compared with that 
of Tristram and Iseult. The tragedy was wrought 
in both cases through sending an ambassador 
in the king’s stead. In a fragment entitled “ Sir 
Lancelot and Queen Guinevere,” Tennyson 
has given us a picture of these two as they rode 
joyously in the springtime towards Camelot. 

“ Then, in the boyhood of the year, 

Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinever- 
Rode thro’ the coverts of the deer, 

With blissful treble ringing clear. 


Lancelot and Guinevere 


267 


She seem’d a part of joyous Spring: 

A gown of grass-green silk she wore, 

Buckled with golden clasps before; 

A light-green tuft of plumes she bore 
Closed in a golden ring. 

“ Now on some twisted ivy-net, 

Now by some tinkling rivulet, 

In mosses mixt with violet 

Her cream-white mule his pastern set: 

And fleeter now she skimm’d the plains 
Than she whose elfin prancer springs 
By night to eery warblings, 

When all the glimmering moorland rings 
With jingling bridle-reins. 

“ As she fled fast thro’ sun and shade, 

The happy winds upon her play’d, 

Blowing the ringlet from the braid: 

She look’d so lovely as she sway’d 
The rein with dainty finger-tips, 

A man had given all other bliss, 

And all his worldly worth for this, 

To waste his whole heart in one kiss 
Upon her perfect lips.” 

Guinevere had not yet seen the king, for on a 
day when he passed through her father’s kingdom 
Arthur rode among his knights as one of them, 


268 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

and Lancelot had held her eyes and seemed the 
goodliest of them all. Thus it happened on that 
glad ride in the merry month of May that the 
magic of the spring flowed through the veins of 
Lancelot and Guinevere and drew them to each 
other, even as the love philtre warmed the hearts 
of Tristram and Iseult when they sailed over seas 
to Cornwall. When at last Guinevere saw King 
Arthur advancing to meet her, she could but 
compare him with her cavalier and thought him 
cold, — 

“ High, self-contain’d, and passionless, not like him, 
‘ Not like my Lancelot ’ — • ” 

We have seen how Sir Lancelot’s unhappy 
passion for the queen possessed him to the exclu- 
sion of all else, and kept him from responding to 
the pure love of Elaine, who otherwise might have 
won his favor. The poet tells us that Lancelot 
loved her 

“ With all love except the love 
Of man and woman when they love their best 
Closest and sweetest, and had died the death 
In any knightly fashion for her sake. 


Lancelot and Guinevere 


269 


“ But now 

The shackles of an old love straighten’d him, 

His honor rooted in dishonor stood, 

And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.” 

Even the features and disposition of the knight 
suffered through this conflict of good and evil 
desires. 

“ The great and guilty love he bare the Queen, 

In battle with the love he bare his lord, 

Had marr’d his face, and mark’d it ere his time. 
Another sinning on such heights with one, 

The flower of all the west and all the world, 

Had been the sleeker for it: but in him 
His mood was often like a fiend, and rose 
And drove him into wastes and solitudes 
For agony, who was yet a living soul.” 

Lancelot’s love for Guinevere was the one 
blemish upon his knightly honor. Because of it 
he was false to his best friend, disloyal to his king, 
and the betrayer of his queen. Restless and 
unhappy he sought relief in valorous deeds, but 
from the one act which was the goal of all true 
knighthood, — the search for the Holy Grail, — 
he was debarred. When Arthur established the 
order of the Round Table his chief ideal was that 
of purity. He hoped to make of his knights, — 


270 The True Lovers' Treasury 

“ A glorious company, the flower of men, 

To serve as model for the mighty world, 

And be the fair beginning of a time. 

I made them lay their hands in mine and swear 

To reverence the King, as if he were 

Their conscience, and their conscience as their King, 


To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it, 
To lead sweet lives in purest chastity, 

To love one maiden only, cleave to her, 

And worship her by years of noble deeds.” 


Through the treachery of the king’s dearest 
friend and the fall of the queen, Arthur’s dream 
was never realized. In one of the “ Idylls ” the 
king seeks out the queen in the convent at Almes- 
bury, whither she has fled after her open disgrace 
at court, and charges her with having “ spoilt the 
purpose ” of his life. 

“ 1 Then came thy shameful sin with Lancelot; 
Then came the sin of Tristram and Isolt; 

Then others, following these my mightiest knights, 
And drawing foul ensample from fair names, 
Sinn’d also, till the loathsome opposite 
Of all my heart had destined did obtain, 

And all thro’ thee ! ’ ” 


Lancelot and Guinevere 


271 

In the old romances Guinevere’s love was ever 
wholly Lancelot’s although she sent him away 
after the death of the king saying : — 

“ ‘ Through this knight and me all the wars 
were wrought, and the death of the most noble 
knights of the world; for through our love that 
we have loved together is my most noble lord 
slain: . . . For as well as I have loved thee, 
Sir Lancelot, now mine heart will not serve me 
to see thee; for through me and thee are the 
flower of kings and knights destroyed, therefore, 
Sir Lancelot, go thou unto thy realm, and there 
take thee a wife, and live with her in joy and bliss ; 
and I beseech you heartily pray for me unto our 
Lord God, that I may amend my misliving.’ 

“ ‘ Now, sweet madam,’ said Sir Lancelot, 
4 would ye that I should now return again into 
my country, and there to wed a lady? Nay, 
madam, wit ye well that I will never while I live ; 
for I shall never be so false to you of that I have 
promised, but the same destiny that ye have taken 
you unto I will take me unto, for to please God, 
and especially to pray for you.’ ” 

Tennyson has turned the current of the story 
from its old-time channel, and has made Guinevere 
realize at last the true nobility of Arthur’s soul 


272 


The True Lovers ’ Treasury 


when he forgives her sin; although he will not 
even touch her hand, as he assures her of his 
enduring love, and charges her to purify her 
soul, — 


“ ‘ And so thou lean on our fair father Christ, 
Hereafter in that world where all are pure 
We two may meet before high God, and thou 
Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know 
I am thine husband — not a smaller soul, 

Nor Lancelot, nor another.’ ” 

When he finally leaves her with the full measure 
of her shame laid bare before her, and she knows 
that he will never return, her grief and remorse 
overwhelm her. 

“ ‘ Gone — my lord ! 

Gone thro’ my sin to slay and to be slain ! 

And he forgave me, and I could not speak. 


And blessed be the King, who hath forgiven 
My wickedness to him, and left me hope 
That in mine own heart I can live down sin 
And be his mate hereafter in the heavens. 


I thought I could not breathe in that fine light — 
I wanted warmth and color which I found 


Lancelot and Guinevere 


2 73 


In Lancelot — now I see thee what thou art, 
Thou art the highest and most human too, 

Not Lancelot, nor another. Is there none 
Will tell the King I love him tho’ so late? 
Now — ere he goes to the great Battle ? none : 
Myself must tell him in that purer life, 

But now it were too daring. Ah my God, 
What might I not have made of thy fair world, 
Had I but loved thy highest creature here? 

It was my duty to have loved the highest: 

It surely was my profit had I known: 

It would have been my pleasure had I seen. 
We needs must love the highest when we see it, 
Not Lancelot, nor another.’ ” 







•* 






















GERAINT AND ENID 


“ There is not so agonizing a feeling in the whole 
catalogue of human suffering as the conviction that 
the heart of the being whom we most tenderly love 
is estranged from us.” 


Bulwer-Lytton. 





















































































GERAINT AND ENID 


The romance of Geraint and Enid, which forms 
a part of the Arthurian cycle, is derived from an 
entirely different source than that from which 
Malory drew his material. It is not included in 
the Morte d’ Arthur, and was probably unknown 
to the author of that work. Chr£stien de Troyes 
has given us a version of the story, although it did 
not originate with him, but was of Welsh inven- 
iton. It is believed that Tennyson was not 
familiar with Chretien’s work, but found the 
material for his idyll, “ Geraint and Enid,” in 
the Mabinogeon, or old Welsh popular tales 
which Lady Guest has made familiar to us. 

The poet has followed carefully the Welsh 
romance, varying only in a few minor details. 
This idyll appeared first as one poem, but, on 
account of its length, was later divided into two 
parts, the first entitled “ The Marriage of Ge- 
raint” and the second retaining the original name. 
For present purposes we will consider it in its 
entirety. “ Geraint and Enid ” presents a marked 
277 


278 


The True Lovers’ Treasury 


contrast to the more polished romances which 
form the subjects of the other idylls, and gives 
us a vivid picture of the half-barbarous life of 
mediaeval times, softened and refined by the 
poet’s fancy. 

“ The brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur’s court, 

A tributary prince of Devon, 

Had married Enid, Yniol’s only child, 

And loved her, as he loved the light of Heaven. 

. . . and the Queen herself, 

Grateful to Prince Geraint for service done, 

Loved her, and often with her own white hands 
Array’d and deck’d her, as the loveliest, 

Next after her own self, in all the court. 

And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart 
Adored her, as the stateliest and the best 
And loveliest of all women upon earth. 

And seeing them so tender and so close, 

Long in their common love rejoiced Geraint. 

But when a rumor rose about the Queen, 

Touching her guilty love for Lancelot, 

Tho’ yet there lived no proof, nor yet was heard 
The world’s loud whisper breaking into storm, 
Not less Geraint believed it; and there fell 
A horror on him, lest his gentle wife, 


Geraint and Enid 


279 


Thro’ that great tenderness for Guinevere, 

Had suffer’d, or should suffer any taint 
In nature.” 

Wherefore he begged permission of the king 
to be allowed to return to his own princedom, 
which lay on the borders of a territory where mis- 
rule was rife, and there defend his land. Arthur 
gave him permission to depart, but when he was 
established with Enid among his people he 
devoted himself to attendance upon her. 

“ Forgetful of his promise to the king, 

Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt, 

Forgetful of the tilt and tournament, 

Forgetful of his glory and his name, 

Forgetful of his princedom and its cares. 

And this forgetfulness was hateful to her.” 

w 

When Enid saw that Geraint was becoming less 
noble and valorous on her account, she was much 
saddened, but, out of delicacy, forebore to speak 
her mind to him. One morning she wakened 
early while Geraint still slept, and noting his 
powerful frame and great muscles, thought, 
“ Was ever man so grandly made as he? ” And 
she reproached herself for his growing effeminacy, 


280 The True Lovers' Treasury 

and weeping moaned, “ O me, I fear that I am 
no true wife.” Her words spoken half aloud 
awoke the prince, who at once believed that his 
worst fears had come to pass and that his wife 
was mourning for a knight of Arthur’s court. 
Thinking thus, he flung himself from his bed and 
called for his charger and Enid’s palfrey, and said 
to her: — 

“ ‘ I will ride forth into the wilderness ; 

For tho’ it seems my spurs are yet to win, 

I have not fall’n so low- as some would wish. 

And you, put on your worst and meanest dress 
And ride with me.’ And Enid ask’d, amazed, 

‘ If Enid errs, let Enid learn her fault.’ 

But he, ‘ I charge you, ask not but obey. ’ ” 

Then Enid bethought her of the faded silk 
which she had worn when first she came to court, 
and while she dressed herself recalled all that dear 
past when she had waited on the prince in her 
good father’s house, for they had lacked for 
servitors since that sad time when he, her cousin 
whom men called the “ Sparrow hawk,” had 
wrested from them all their lands and goods. 
Geraint had listened to their story and had found 
that the man was his sworn enemy whom even 


Geraint and Enid 


281 


then he rode in quest of. Then the prince went 
forth and met the “ Sparrow hawk ” and laid 
him low; and won their earldom back. Then 
making her “ his own true wife ” had brought her 
to the court and to the queen, who clothed her in 
bright robes. 

Now she must ride in faded garments meekly on 
before, not at her dear lord’s side, and must 
obey him to his hurt ; for he had warned her to 
keep silent even if danger threatened him. Twice 
Enid braving his displeasure had warned him of 
surprise ; then he had answered angrily and 
falling on his enemies had vanquished them and 
took their horses and roughly bade her drive them 
on before. Thus after many perils came they 
to the waste lands of treacherous Earl Doorm. 
And now Geraint was set upon and wounded 
sorely, though he gave no sign, till faint with loss 
of blood he swooned and fell from off his horse. 
Then Enid found his wound, and bound it up, 
and waited, hoping help would come. At noon 
Earl Doorm espied them there, and bade his 
vassals bear the yet unconscious man upon a 
litter-bier to his great hall, where Enid sat beside 
him and would not eat nor drink, and when the 
earl compelled her she cried out: 


282 


The True Lovers ’ Treasury 


“ ‘ by Heaven, I will not drink, 

Till my dear lord arise and bid me do it, 

And drink with me; and if he rise no more, 

I will not look at wine until I die.’ ” 

The earl enraged at her refusal struck her once 
across the cheek, and “ she sent forth a sudden 
sharp and bitter cry ” which roused the senses 
of the sleeping man, and Prince Geraint sprang 
up and severed the earl’s head from off his shoul- 
ders, and all the men and women fled. When 
they two were left alone, the prince said : 

“ ‘ Enid, I have used you worse than that dead man ; 
Done you more wrong . . . 

Henceforward I will rather die than doubt. 


I heard you say, that you were no true wife: 
I swear I will not ask your meaning in it : 

I do believe yourself against yourself, 

And henceforward rather die than doubt.’ 


“ And Enid could not say one tender word, 
She felt so blunt and stupid at the heart : 

She only prayed him, ‘ Fly, they will return 
And slay you: fly, your charger is without.’ 


“ Then Geraint upon the horse 
Mounted, and reach’d a hand, and on his foot 


Geraint and Enid 


283 

She set her own and climb’d; he turn’d his face 
And kiss’d her climbing, and she cast her arms 
About him, and at once they rode away.” 

Soon they came to the camp of Arthur who was 
on his way to do battle with Earl Doorm, for 
he would rid the kingdom of such as he, and here 
Geraint and Enid tarried till his hurt was well, 
and the king 

“ Cleansed the dark places and let in the law 

And broke the bandit holds and cleansed the land.” 

When Geraint was healed they rode with Arthur 
to the court, where the queen welcomed Enid 
joyfully. 

“ Thence after tarrying for a space they rode, 

And fifty knights rode with them to the shores 
Of Severn, and they past to their own land. 

And there he kept the justice of the King 
So vigorously yet mildly, that all hearts 
Applauded, and the spiteful whisper died: 

And being ever foremost in the chase, 

And victor at the tilt and tournament, 

They called him the great Prince and man of men. 
But Enid, whom her ladies loved to call 
Enid the Fair, a grateful people named 
Enid the Good; and in their halls arose 


284 The True Lovers' Treasury 

The cry of children, Enids and Geraints 
Of times to be ; nor did he doubt her more 
But rested in her fealty, till he crown’d 
A happy life with a fair death, and fell 
Against the heathen of the Northern Sea 
In battle, fighting for the blameless King.” 


FAUST AND MARGUERITE 


“ They say sin touches not a man so near 
As shame a woman; yet he too should be 
Part of the penance, being more deep than she 
Set in the sin.” 


— Swinburne. 


























































































































- 
































































































FAUST AND MARGUERITE 


The story of Faust and Marguerite is too 
familiar to need retelling, and yet it cannot well 
be omitted from among those of the famous lovers 
in poetry and art. Successful operas and dramas 
have been developed from this theme, and artists 
have seized upon its various details and given 
them life and color on canvas. In whatever w T ay 
the subject is treated it is always convincing and 
arouses intense sympathy. Whether we listen to 
the beautiful music of the opera, or watch the action 
of the drama unfolding before us, or merely look 
upon the pictured face of Marguerite as portrayed 
by a skilful artist in all its sadness and loveliness, 
we are ready to acknowledge the greatness of 
Goethe’s genius. For although the Faust legend 
belongs to the sixteenth century, the story of 
Marguerite was invented by Goethe. 

There is little likelihood that Goethe ever 
intended this fragment to represent more than 
“ an episode in the world-poem of Faust; ” and 
he undoubtedly would have been much surprised 
287 


288 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

could he have looked into the future and noted 
the prominence given to the “ Tragedy of Mar- 
garet.” The chief incidents of her story have 
been repeated many times in art. It is not neces- 
sary to enumerate here all of the artists who have 
painted Marguerite. Let us, however, look at a 
few of their best known works. 

Marguerite’s first meeting with Faust, as 
painted by Tissot, represents a “ demure maiden 
with downcast eyes, and a face as pure as it is 
sweet and tender.” Faust accosts her in a 
respectful manner, as she comes out of church, 
and she passes on with folded arms, scarcely ap- 
pearing to heed him. Mephistopheles and dame 
Martha converse a little apart. 

“ Faust. My fair young lady, will it offend her 
If I offer my arm and escort to lend her ? 
Margaret. Am neither lady, nor yet am fair! 
Can find my way home without anyone’s care. 

(Disengages herself and exit) 

Faust. By heavens, but then the child is fair ! 

I’ve never seen the like, I swear. 

So modest is she and so pure, 

And somewhat saucy, too, to be sure. 

The light of the cheek, the lip’s red bloom, 

I shall never forget to the day of doom ! 

How she cast down her lovely eyes, 


Faust and Marguerite 


289 


Deep in my soul imprinted lies; 

How she spoke up, so curt and tart, 

Ah, that went right to my ravished heart ! 

(Enter Mephistopheles) 

Faust. Hark, thou shalt find me a way to address 
her ! 

Mephistopheles. Which one ? 

Faust. She just went by. 

Mephistopheles. What ! She ? 

She came just now from her father confessor, 
Who from all sins pronounced her free; 

I stole behind her noiselessly, 

’Tis an innocent thing, who, for nothing at all, 
Must go the confessional; 

O’er such as she no power I hold ! ” 

— Brooks (trans.). 

Alone in her little chamber, Marguerite solilo- 
quizes on the character of Faust. 

“ I would give something to know who that 
gentleman was to-day I He had a gallant bearing, 
and is of a noble family, I am sure. I could read 
that on his brow ; besides, he would not else have 
been so impudent.” 

She leaves the room for a few minutes and 
Mephistopheles and Faust steal in and place the 
casket of jewels where she must find it on her 
return. In the jewel scene as painted by Liezen- 


290 The True Lovers' Treasury 

Mayer and by Merle, Martha has discovered 
Marguerite with the chain hung about her neck. 
Li ezen- Mayer’s picture shows Marguerite as 
something of a coquette. She is smiling and 
appears to take delight in Martha’s teasing. 
Merle has represented the young girl “ with deep, 
sad eyes ” which reveal a “ foreboding of the 
future not wholly in accord with Goethe’s por- 
trayal of the unthinking maiden.” 

(Marguerite opens press to put away her 
clothes and perceives the casket.) 

“ How came this beautiful casket here ? I am 
sure I locked the press. It is very strange ! What 
is in it, I wonder? Perhaps some one brought it 
as a pledge, and my mother lent money upon it. 
A little key hangs by the ribbon ; I have a good 
mind to open it. What is here ? Good heavens ! 
look ! I have never seen anything like it in all 
my bom days ! A set of trinkets a countess 
might wear on the highest festival. How would 
the chain become me ? To whom can such finery 
belong ? (She puts them on, and walks before the 
looking-glass.) If the ear-rings were but mine ! 
One cuts quite a different figure in them. What 
avails your beauty, poor maiden ? That may be 
all very pretty and good, but they let it all be. 


Faust and Marguerite 


2Q1 


You are praised, half in pity; but after gold 
presses — on gold hangs — everything. — Alas, 
for us poor ones!’ ” • — Hayward ( trans .). 

The garden scene, by Gabriel Max, indicates 
the rapid progress made by Faust in his woo- 
ing, as, with his arm about her, Marguerite 
seems to yield, although shyly, to his embrace. 
Von Kreling’s picture of the same scene is 
characterized by more fire and vehemence on 
the part of Faust and a ready response from 
Marguerite whose lips meet those of her lover 
while her arms encircle his neck. 

li Faust. What’s that for? A bouquet? 

Marguerite. No, just for sport. 

Faust. How ? 

Marguerite. Go ! you’ll laugh at me; away ! 

Faust. What murmurest thou? 

Marguerite. He loves me — loves me not. 

Faust. Sweet face! from heaven that look was 
caught ! 

Marguerite. Loves me — not — loves me — not — 
(picking off the last leaf with tender joy) 

He loves me ! 

Faust. Yes, my child ! And be this floral word 
An oracle to thee. He loves thee ! 

Knowest thou all it means? He loves thee ! ” 
— Brooks {trans.). 


292 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


Marguerite at the spinning-wheel sings of her 
sorrow and the loss of her peace of mind. Von 
Kreling has given us an interesting painting upon 
this theme. 


“ My peace is gone ; 

My heart is heavy; 

I shall find it never, 

And never more. 

“ Where I have him not, 

Is the grave to me. 

The whole world 
Is imbittered to me. 

“ My poor head 
Is wandering, 

My feeble sense 
Distraught. 

“ My peace is gone; 

My heart is heavy; 

I shall find it never, 

And never more.” 

— Hayward (trans.). 

In Liezen-Mayer’s picture of Marguerite kneel- 
ing at the shrine we see her bemoaning her sad 
fate, and filled with remorse for her sin. 


Faust and Marguerite 


293 


“ Ah, hear me, 

Draw kindly near me, 

Mother of sorrows, heal my woe ! 

“ Go where I will, I never 
Find peace or hope — forever 
Woe, woe and misery I 

“ Alone, when all are sleeping, 

I’m weeping, weeping, weeping, 

My heart is crushed in me.” 

— Brooks (i Wans .). 

Von Kreling’s “ Marguerite Abandoned ” shows 
Marguerite on her way to prison. “ Marguerite 
and Faust in Prison,” by Liezen-Mayer, reveals 
the climax of this sad story. Poor Marguerite 
crazed by her troubles scarcely heeds her lover’s 
remorse and refuses to make her escape. 

“ Marguerite. Is it, then, thou ? 

And is it thou indeed? 

Faust. ’Tis I ! Come, follow me ! 

Marguerite. Thou break’st my chain, 

And tak’st me to thy breast again ! 

How comes it, then, that thou art not afraid 
of me? 

And dost thou know, my friend, who ’tis thou 
settest free? 


294 True Lovers * Treasury 

Faust. Come ! come ! The night is on the wane. 
Marguerite. Woe! woe! My mother I’ve slain! 
Have drowned the babe of mine! 

Was it not sent to be mine and thine ? 


Faust. The day is breaking ! Dearest ! dearest ! 
Marguerite. Day ! Ay, it is day ! the last great day 
breaks in ! 

My wedding-day it should have been ! 

Tell no one thou hast been with Margery ! 
Alas for my garland ! The hour’s advancing ! 
Retreat is in vain! 

We meet again, 

But not at the dancing. 

The multitude presses, no word is spoke. 
Square, streets, all places — 

A sea of faces — 

The bell is tolling, the staff is broke. 

How they seize me and bind me ! 

They hurry me off to the bloody block. 


Mephistopheles (to Faust). Come ! come ! or in 
the lurch 

I leave both her and thee ! 

Marguerite. Thine am I, Father! Rescue me! 
Ye angels, holy bands, attend me ! 

And camp around me to defend me ! 

Henry ! I dread to look on thee. 
Mephistopheles . She’s judged ! 


Faust and Marguerite 


295 


Voice (from above). She’s saved ! 

Mephistopheles (to Faust). Come thou to me! 
(Vanishes with Faust) 

Voice (from within, dying away). Henry 1 Henry ! 



























MIGNON 

Sweet is true love, though given in vain.” 

' — T ennyson. 





























































































* 






MIGNON 


In the preface to Carlyle’s translation of 
Goethe’s “ Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship ” 
we find the following appreciation of that work 
and especially of the story of Mignon. 

“ It is with Meister as with every work of real 
and abiding excellence, the first glance is the 
least favorable. A picture of Raphael, a Greek 
statue, a play of Sophocles or Shakespeare, ap- 
pears insignificant to the unpractised eye; and 
not till after long and patient and intense examina- 
tion, do we begin to descry the earnest features of 
that beauty, which has its foundation in the 
deepest nature of man, and will continue to be 
pleasing through all ages. 

“ If this appear excessive praise, as applied in 
any sense to Meister , the curious sceptic is desired 
to read and weigh the whole performance, with 
all its references, relations, purposes ; and to 
pronounce his verdict after he has clearly seized 
and appreciated them all. . . . But, above all, 
let him turn to the history of Mignon. This 
299 


3 °° 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


mysterious child, at first neglected by the reader, 
gradually forced on his attention, at length over- 
powers him with an emotion more deep and thrill- 
ing than any poet since the days of Shakespeare 
has succeeded in producing. The daughter of 
enthusiasm, rapture, passion, and despair, she 
is of the earth but not earthly. When she glides 
before us through the light mazes of her fairy 
dance, or twangs her cithern to the notes of her 
homesick verses, or whirls her tambourine and 
hurries round us like an antique Maenad, we 
could almost fancy her a spirit ; so pure is she, so 
full of fervor, so disengaged from the clay of this 
world. And when all the fearful particulars of 
her story are at length laid together, and we 
behold in connected order the image of her hapless 
existence, there is, in those dim recollections, 
those feelings so simple, so impassioned and 
unspeakable, consuming the closely-shrouded, 
woe-struck, yet ethereal spirit of the poor creature, 
something which searches into the inmost recesses 
of the soul. It is not tears which her fate calls 
forth ; but a feeling far too deep for tears. The 
very fire of heaven seems miserably quenched 
among the obstructions of this earth. Her little 
heart, so noble and so helpless, perishes before 


Mignon 


3 01 


the smallest of its many beauties is unfolded ; and 
all its loves, and thoughts, and longings, do but 
add another pang to death, and sink to silence 
utter and eternal. . . . 

“ The history of Mignon runs like a thread of 
gold through the tissue of the narrative, con- 
necting with the heart much that were else 
addressed only to the head. Philosophy and elo- 
quence might have done the rest; but this is 
poetry in the highest meaning of the word. It 
must be for the power of producing such creations 
and emotions, that Goethe is by many of his 
countrymen ranked at the side of Homer and 
Shakespeare, as one of the only three men of 
genius that have ever lived.” 

When Wilhelm Meister first saw Mignon she 
was dressed as a boy and in the company of a 
troop of rope-dancers who ill-treated her. Taking 
pity on her wretchedness he purchased the child’s 
freedom of the showman for thirty crowns. From 
that time Mignon persisted in doing every possible 
service for her friend and could not be persuaded 
to leave him. She continued to dress as a boy, 
and often entertained Wilhelm with her dancing 
and singing. On one occasion she danced the 
marvellous egg dance, having been at great pains 


302 


The True Lovers’ Treasury 


to teach the air of a certain fandango to the old 
harper that he might play it accurately for her 
performance of this difficult feat. She had a 
different mode of salutation for each person, and 
was accustomed to salute her benefactor with 
arms crossed upon her breast. Intensely jealous 
in disposition, the little creature suffered greatly 
if Wilhelm seemed to prefer any one before her. 

Interwoven with the romance of Mignon is the 
story of the mysterious harper whose fortunes are 
closely related to hers. Mignon’s broken German 
but poorly expressed her thoughts, and like the 
harper she was able to best disclose in music the 
thoughts and emotions which filled her being. 
The two waifs frequently sang together songs and 
fragments which they had composed or recalled 
from an half-forgotten past. The verses were 
always of a melancholy character, expressing 
extreme love and longing. 

“ You never longed and loved, 

You know not grief like mine: 

Alone and far removed 
From joys or hopes, I pine: 

A foreign sky above, 

And a foreign earth below me, 

To the south I look all day; 


Mignon 


3°3 


For the hearts that love and know me 
Are far, are far away. 

I burn, I faint, I languish, 

My heart is waste, and sick, and sore; 

Who has not longed in baffled anguish, 

Cannot know what I deplore.” 

Mignon’s health gradually failed and her death 
was hastened by her intense longing for her native 
land and by the over- whelming love for Wilhelm 
Meister, which her undeveloped nature was 
unable to bear with equanimity. 

The opera of “ Mignon ” was composed by 
Ambroise Thomas and the libretto is founded 
upon Goethe’s story of Mignon. Mignon’s song 
in which she expresses her desire to visit her 
native land forms the leading motif of the opera. 

“ ‘ Know’st thou the land where citron-apples bloom, 
And oranges like gold in leafy gloom, 

A gentle wind from deep-blue heaven blows, 

The myrtle thick, and high the laurel grows? 
Know’st thou it then? 

’Tis there ! ’Tis there ! 

O my true loved one, thou with me must go ! 

“ ‘ Know’st thou the house, its porch with pillars tall ? 
The rooms do glitter, glitters bright the hall, 


304 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

And marble statues stand, and look each one : 

What’s this, poor child, to thee they’ve done? 

Know’st thou it then? 

’Tis there ! ’Tis there ! 

O my protector, thou with me must go ! 

“ ‘ Know’st thou the hill, the bridge that hangs on 
cloud : 

The mules in mist grope o’er the torrent loud, 

In caves lie coiled the dragon’s ancient brood, 

The crag leaps down, and over it the flood : 

Know’st thou it then? 

’Tis there 1 ’Tis there ! 

Our way runs; O my father, wilt thou go? ’ ” 

After Mignon’s death the whole of her pathetic 
history became known to Wilhelm Meister. Her 
birthplace was Italy as she frequently intimated. 
Too late the discovery had been made that her 
parents were united by the closest ties of con- 
sanguinity. Disguised as the old harper, her 
father had wandered restlessly from one land to 
another a prey to the pangs of conscience. Her 
mother could not bear to look upon the child, 
and had committed her to the care of a family 
living near the sea-shore. Parties of rope-dancers 
were often seen in the neighborhood and one of 
these companies had borne the child away, leav- 


Mignon 305 

ing the impression that the little Mignon had 
fallen into the water and been drowned. 

Mignon’s pathetic childish figure has been 
frequently represented in art, particularly by the 
German painters of the nineteenth century. 
Among the best known pictures are those of 
Weber, Horn, Kaulbach, and Max. 







































HERMANN AND DOROTHEA 

“ Across the threshold led, 

And every tear kissed off as soon as shed, 

His house she enters, there to be a light, 

Shining within, when all without is night; 

A guardian angel o’er his life presiding, 

Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing ! ” 

— Rogers. 






































































































































- 





























HERMANN AND DOROTHEA 


A German pastoral poem as fine in tone as the 
classic Greek idyl, but imbued with modem 
feeling, describes at length the youthful Hermann’s 
meeting, hasty wooing, and triumphant winning 
of the charming exile, Dorothea. This chief 
German idyllic epic was written by Germany’s 
greatest poet. It has been called “ a hymn to the 
family ” and “ the pearl of German art.” Goethe’s 
“ Hermann and Dorothea ” and Bums’ “ Cot- 
ter’s Saturday Night ” are undoubtedly the 
most masterly reproductions of family life to be 
found in literature. 

The landlord of “ The Golden Lion,” a man of 
kind heart but quick temper, desires nothing so 
much as a suitable marriage for his only son, 
Hermann. The son fails to find a mate among 
the light-hearted village maidens, taking their 
jesting ways too seriously. One day a band of 
exiles seeks refuge in the little town, and Hermann 
is sent to them with food and clothing. It is 
there that he meets the orphaned Dorothea, who 
3<>9 


310 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

attracts him at once by her gentle womanly 
manner. She is no less affected by this meeting 
with the young stranger who comes to do her and 
her people such kindly service. 

Hermann returns home and makes known to 
his parents his newly awakened interest in the 
beautiful emigrant. His father is greatly disin- 
clined to receive one whom he regards as his son’s 
inferior. The mother urges consideration of 
Hermann’s choice, and, if the young woman be 
found worthy, sees no reason why they should not 
receive her as a daughter. Inquiries are set on 
foot and good report is made of her disposition 
and character. Hermann dares not inform her 
directly of his love, but urges her to take service 
with his mother. She gladly accepts his kind 
offer, and it is not until his home is reached 
that the true state of affairs is revealed to her. 
All ends happily with the betrothal of the young 
people. 

Many illustrations of the story have been made. 
Kaulbach’s picture of the entrance of the young 
emigrant into the village, when she is first seen 
by Hermann who has come to offer assistance to 
the poor travellers, is most often seen. Another 
picture by the same artist represents the meeting 


Hermann and Dorothea 


311 

at the fountain, and illustrates the passage in 
which Hermann prevails upon Dorothea to take 
service with his mother at the hostelry of the 
“ Golden Lion.” 


“ Like as the traveller, who, when the sun is ap- 
proaching its setting, 

Fixes his eyes on it once again ere quickly it vanish, 

Then on the sides of the rocks, and on all the dark- 
ening bushes, 

Sees its hovering image; whatever direction he look 
in 

That hastes before, and flickers and gleams in ra- 
diant colors, — 

So before Hermann’s eyes moved the beautiful shape 
of the maiden 

Softly, and seeming to follow the path that led into 
the cornfield. 

But he aroused from his wildering dream and turned 
himself slowly 

Towards where the village lay and was wildered 
again ; for again came 

Moving to meet him the lofty form of the glorious 
maiden. 

Fixedly gazed he upon her; herself it was and no 
phantom. 

Bearing in either hand a larger jar and a smaller, 

Each by the handle, with busy step she came on to 
the fountain. 


312 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

Joyfully then he hastened to meet her; the sight of 
her gave him 

Courage and strength; and thus the astonished girl 
he accosted : 

* Do I then find thee, brave-hearted maiden, so soon 
again busy, 

Rendering aid unto others, and happy in bringing 
them comfort? 

Say why thou comest alone to this well which lies at 
such distance, 

When all the rest are content with the water they 
find in the village ? 

This has peculiar virtues, ’tis true; and the taste is 
delicious. 

Thou to that mother wouldst bring it, I trow, whom 
thy faithfulness rescued.’ 

Straightway with cordial greeting the kindly maiden 
made answer: 

1 Here has my walk to the spring already been amply 
rewarded, 

Since I have found the good friend who bestowed so 
abundantly on us; 

For a pleasure not less than the gifts is the sight of 
the giver. 

Come, I pray thee, and see for thyself who has 
tasted thy bounty; 

Come, and the quiet thanks receive of all it has 
solaced. 

But that thou straightway the reason mayest know 
for which I am hither 


Hermann and Dorothea 


3 I 3 

Come to draw, where pure and unfailing the water is 
flowing, 

This I must tell thee, — that all the water we have in 
the village 

Has by improvident people been troubled with horses 
and oxen 

Wading direct through the source which brings the 
inhabitants water. 

And furthermore they have also made foul with their 
washings and rinsings 

All the troughs of the village, and all the fountains 
have sullied; 

For but one thought is in all and that how to satisfy 
quickest 

Self and the need of the moment, regardless of what 
may come after.’ 


“ Thus she spoke, and the broad stone steps mean- 
while had descended 

With her companion beside her, and on the low 
wall of the fountain 

Both sat them down. She bent herself over to draw, 
and he also 

Took in his hand the jar that remained, and bent 
himself over ; 

And in the blue of the heavens, they, seeing their 
image reflected, 

Friendly greetings and nods exchanged in the quiver- 
ing mirror. 


314 Th e True Lovers' Treasury 

“ ‘ Give me to drink/ the youth thereupon in his 
gladness petitioned, 

And she handed the pitcher. Familiarly sat they and 
rested, 

Both leaning over their jars, till she presently asked 
her companion : 

‘ Tell me, why find I thee here, and without thy 
horses and wagon, 

Far from the place where I met thee at first? how 
earnest thou hither? * 


“ Thoughtful he bent his eyes on the ground, then 
quietly raised them 

Up to her face, and, meeting with frankness the 
gaze of the maiden, 

Felt himself solaced and stilled. But then impos- 
sible was it, 

That he of love should speak; her eye told not of 
affection, 

Only of clear understanding, requiring intelligent 
answer. 

And he composed himself quickly, and cordially said 
to the maiden : 

1 Hearken to me, my child, and let me reply to thy 
question. 

’Twas for thy sake that hither I came; why seek 
to conceal it? 

Knowv I live happy at home with both my affec- 
tionate parents, 


Hermann and Dorothea 


315 

Faithfully giving my aid their house and estates in 
directing, 

Being an only son, and because our affairs are 
extensive. 

Mine is the charge of the farm; my father bears 
rule in the household; 

While the presiding spirit of all is the diligent 
mother. 

But thine experience doubtless has taught thee how 
grievously servants, 

Now through deceit, and now through their care- 
lessness, harass the mistress, 

Forcing her ever to change and replace one fault 
with another. 

Long for that reason my mother has wished for a 
maid in the household, 

Who not with hand alone, but with heart too, will 
lend her assistance, 

Taking the daughter’s place, whom, alas! she was 
early deprived of. 

Now when to-day by the wagon I saw thee, so 
ready and cheerful, 

Witnessed the strength of thine arms, and thy limbs 
of such healthful proportion, 

When thy intelligent speech I heard, I was smitten 
with wonder. 

Hastening homeward, I there to my parents and 
neighbors the stranger 

Praised as she well deserved. But I now am come 
hither to tell thee 


316 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

What is their wish as mine. — Forgive me my stam- 
mering language.’ 


“ ‘ Hesitate not,’ she, answering, said, 4 to tell me 
what follows. 

Thou dost not give me offence ; I have listened with 
gratitude to thee: 

Speak it out honestly therefore ; the sound of it will 
not alarm me. 

Thou wouldst engage me as servant to wait on thy 
father and mother, 

And to look after the well-ordered house of which ye 
are the owners; 

And thou thinkest in me to find them a capable 
servant, 

One who is skilled in her work, and not of a rude 
disposition. 

Short thy proposal has been, and short shall be also 
my answer. 

Yes, I will go with thee home, and the call of fate 
I will follow. 

Here my duty is done: I have brought the newly 
made mother 

Back to her kindred again, who are all in her safety 
rejoicing. 

Most of our people already are gathered; the others 
will follow. 

All think a few days more will certainly see them 
returning 


Hermann and Dorothea 


317 

Unto their homes; for such is the exile’s constant 
delusion. 

But by no easy hope do I suffer myself to be cheated 

During these sorrowful days which promise yet 
more days of sorrow. 

All the bands of the world have been loosed, and 
what shall unite them, 

Saving alone the need, the need supreme, that is 
on us? 

If in a good man’s house I can earn my living by 
service 

Under the eye of an excellent mistress, I gladly 
will do it; 

Since of doubtful repute, must be always a wan- 
dering maiden. 

Yes, I will go with thee, soon as I first shall have 
carried the pitchers 

Back to my friends, and prayed the good people to 
give me their blessing. 

Come, thou must see them thyself, and from their 
hands must receive me.’ 

“ Joyfully hearkened the youth to the willing maiden’s 
decision, 

Doubtful whether he ought not at once to make 
honest confession. 

Yet it appeared to him best to leave her awhile in 
her error, 

Nor for her love to sue, before leading her home 
to his dwelling.” 




EVANGELINE AND GABRIEL 


“ Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and 
endures, and is patient, 

Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman’s 
devotion, 

List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines 
of the forest; 

List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.” 

— H. W. Longfellow. 

















EVANGELINE AND GABRIEL 

Longfellow’s “ Evangeline,” like Goethe’s 
“ Hermann and Dorothea,” describes the fate 
of a band of exiles who, driven from their homes 
and separated from their loved ones, are forced 
to seek food and shelter in an alien land. A 
writer in “ Education ” declares that the art of 
“ Evangeline ” is superior to that of the great 
German idyl ; inasmuch as the qualities which are 
an inherent part of Evangeline’s character surpass 
those of Goethe’s heroine. Dorothea finds com- 
fort in practical everyday tasks, her virtues are 
those of earth, and she easily surrenders the mem- 
ory of her former betrothed to the love of a 
stranger who is kind to her. Evangeline’s support 
comes from a higher source; and her service is 
dedicated to Divine Love which alone has power 
to console her. No earthly lover, however worthy, 
can supplant her lost one in Evangeline’s faithful 
heart, and to all entreaties to forget Gabriel and 

321 


3 22 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


give her hand to another whose love might make 
her happy, she would reply: — 

“ 4 1 cannot ! 

Wither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and 
not elsewhere. 

For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and il- 
lumines the pathway, 

Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in 
darkness ! ’ ” 

Then the good priest would cheer her, saying : — 
“ 4 O daughter ! thy God thus speaketh within thee ! 


Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy 
work of affection! 

Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endur- 
ance is godlike. 

Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the 
heart is made godlike, 

Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more 
worthy of heaven ! ’ ” 

It is not generally known that a basis of fact 
underlies the story of Evangeline. In the “ Book- 
man,” H. L. Sayler tells us that there is every 
reason to believe that the story of the real Evange- 
line was told to Longfellow by Alexander Mouton 




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Evangeline and Gabriel 


323 

at one time Governor of Louisiana, and later, 
United States Senator. 

The name of the unfortunate young woman 
was Emmeline Labiche, and her fate was even 
sadder than that of Longfellow’s heroine. Sepa- 
rated from her lover in much the same way as 
narrated in “ Evangeline,” she was brought to 
Baltimore, where she endeared herself to every- 
one by her loving nature and helpful acts ; so that 
she was no longer called Emmeline, but Evange- 
line, or “ God’s little angel.” Later, with friends 
she left Maryland and went to Louisiana. No 
sooner had she landed than she beheld her lover 
standing a little apart watching the scene ; with a 
glad cry of, “ Louis, Louis Arsenaux ! ” she ran 
toward him only to be told that he was betrothed 
to another. Her reason gave way at the terrible 
news, and although she lived many years, she 
always retained the delusion that she was still the 
young maiden of sixteen who was soon to be 
married tocher beloved Louis. 

Although Evangeline’s sufferings were pro- 
longed, she was not denied the consolation of a 
final meeting with Gabriel, and of ministering to 
him in his dying moments. In the quotation as 
given here many beautiful lines are omitted for 


3 2 4 


The True Lovers’ Treasury 


the sake of brevity, but a complete picture is 

presented of the last scene of the tragedy as de- 
scribed by the poet. 

“ In that delightful land which is washed by the 
Delaware’s waters, 

Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the 
apostle, 

Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city 
he founded. 

There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an 
exile, 

Finding among the children of Penn a home and a 
country. 

And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of 
the Quakers, 

For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, 

Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and 
sisters. 

So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed en- 
deavor, 

Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncom- 
plaining, 

Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thought 
and her footsteps. 

“ Gabriel was not forgotten. 

He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and 
not absent; 


Evangeline and Gabriel 


325 

Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to 
others, 

This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had 
taught her. 

Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to 
follow 

Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her 
Saviour. 

Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy; 
frequenting 

Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of 
the city, 

Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished 
neglected. 

Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the 
watchman repeated 

Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in 
the city, 

High at some lonely window he saw the light of her 
taper. 


“ Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the 
city, 

Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, 
the oppressor; 

But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his 
anger; — 

Only, alas! the poor, who had neither friends nor 
attendants, 


326 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the 
homeless. 

Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of 
Mercy. 

“ Thus, on a Sabbath morn, she entered the door 
of the almshouse. 

Something within her said, ‘ At length thy trials are 
ended; ’ 

And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers 
of sickness. 

Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful 
attendants, 

Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and 
in silence 

Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing 
their faces, 

Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow 
by the roadside. 

“ Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of 
wonder, 

Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a 
shudder 

Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets 
dropped from her fingers. 

Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible 
anguish, 

That the dying heard it, and started up from their 
pillows, 


Evangeline and Gabriel 327 

On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an 
old man. 

Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded 
his temples; 

But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a 
moment 

Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier 
manhood ; 

So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are 
dying. 

Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay; 

Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and 
saint-like, 

* Gabriel ! O my beloved ! ’ and died away into silence. 

Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of 
his childhood; 

As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his 
vision. 

Tears came into his eyes; and as slowly he lifted his 
eyelids, 

Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by 
his bedside. 

Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents 
unuttered 

Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his 
tongue would have spoken. 

Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling 
beside him, 

Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her 
bosom. 


328 The True Lovers ’ Treasury 

Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank 
into darkness, 

As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a 
casement. 

“ All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and 
the sorrow, 

All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, 
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of 
patience ! 

And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her 
bosom, 

Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, ‘ Father, 
I thank thee ! ’ ” 

Interwoven with the story are many fine descrip- 
tions of the beauties of nature as found in the 
northern scenery of Nova Scotia and in the warmer 
climate of Louisiana. The prelude with its 
sombre forest music forms a fitting introduction 
to the sad Acadian romance. The mocking- 
bird’s welcoming notes as Evangeline arrives at 
the home of Basil, on the bank of the Teche, 
bring the southern atmosphere vividly before us. 

“ Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, 
wildest of singers, 

Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o’er the 
water, 


Evangeline and Gabriel 329 

Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious 
music, 

That the whole air and the woods and the waves 
seemed silent to listen. 

Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then soaring 
to madness 

Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied 
Bacchantes. 

Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low 
lamentation ; 

Till, having gathered them all, he flung them 
abroad in derision, 

As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the 
tree-tops 

Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on 
the branches. 

With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed 
with emotion, 

Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows 
through the green Opelousas 

And, through the amber air, above the crest of the 
woodland, 

Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neigh- 
boring dwelling ; — 

Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing 
of cattle.” 

Many artists have painted Evangeline. Copies 

of Thomas Faed’s Evangeline were eagerly 

bought, and no “ best room ” was complete 


330 


The True Lovers’ Treasury 


without this picture hung upon the wall in a good 
light. It is one of the memories of childhood 
with many who are middle-aged to-day. Mr. 
Frank Dicksee has reproduced the scene in the 
alms-house most realistically. 


JACOB AND RACHEL 

Young Rachel with her sheep stood at the well, 
But Jacob’s arm to fray the boors and move 
The stone came timely, and behind came Love : 
Kissed, wept, and sped the future Israel.” 

— C. J. Cruttwell. 




JACOB AND RACHEL 

“ Then Jacob went on his journey, and came 
into the land of the people of the east. And he 
looked, and behold a well in the field, and, lo, 
there were three flocks of sheep lying by it; for 
out of that well they watered the flocks : and a 
great stone was laid upon the well’s mouth. And 
thither were all the flocks gathered: and they 
rolled the stone from the well’s mouth, and 
watered the sheep, and put the stone again upon 
the well’s mouth in his place. And Jacob said 
unto them, My brethren, whence be ye? And 
they said, Of Haran are we. And he said unto 
them, Know ye Laban the son of Nahor? And 
they said, We know him. And he said unto them 
Is he well? And they said, He is well: and, 
behold, Rachel his daughter cometh with the 
sheep. And he said, Lo, it is yet high day, 
neither is it time that the cattle should be gathered 
together: water ye the sheep, and go and feed 
them. And they said, We cannot, until all the 
333 


334 


The True Lovers’ Treasury 


flocks be gathered together, and till they roll 
the stone from the well’s mouth; then we water 
the sheep. 

“ And while he yet spake with them, Rachel 
came with her father’s sheep : for she kept them. 
And it came to pass, when Jacob saw Rachel 
the daughter of Laban his mother’s brother, 
and the sheep of Laban his mother’s brother, 
that Jacob went near, and rolled the stone from 
the well’s mouth, and watered the flock of Laban 
his mother’s brother. And Jacob kissed Rachel, 
and lifted up his voice, and wept. And Jacob 
told Rachel that he was her father’s brother, and 
that he was Rebekah’s son: and she ran and 
told her father. And it came to pass, when 
Laban heard the tidings of Jacob his sister’s 
son, that he ran to meet him, and embraced 
him, and kissed him, • and brought him to his 
house. And he told Laban all these things. 
And Laban said to him, Surely thou art my 
bone and my flesh. And he abode with him 
the space of a month. 

“ And Laban said unto Jacob, Because thou art 
my brother, shouldest thou therefore serve me for 
nought ? tell me, what shall thy wages be ? And 
Laban had two daughters : the name of the elder 



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Jacob and Rachel 


335 


was Leah, and the name of the younger was 
Rachel. Leah was tender-eyed ; but Rachel was 
beautiful and well-favoured. And Jacob loved 
Rachel; and said, I will serve thee seven years for 
Rachel thy younger daughter. And Laban said 
It is better that I give her to thee, than that I should 
give her to another man: abide with me. And 
Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they 
seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he 
had to her.” — Genesis , Chapter xxix . 

The story of the meeting of Jacob and Rachel 
beside the well, as told in the simple language of 
the Scriptures, furnishes a delightful picture of 
primitive courtship amid pastoral scenes. The 
subject was a favorite with the Italian artists. It 
is included in the series of paintings known as 
“ Raphael’s Bible ” which were designed for the 
Loggie, or open corridor of the Vatican. The 
composition is in accord with the simphcity of the 
narrative. The well at which the sheep are 
quenching their thirst is in the foreground. 
Rachel is accompanied by Leah, and the sisters 
look with favor upon the young stranger who 
advances eagerly to meet them. 

The scene of the compact which forms a part 


The True Lovers' Treasury 


33 6 

of the same series shows Laban and Jacob with 
raised fingers solemnly sealing the contract. 
Rachel, well- pleased, stands beside her father, 
while Leah, remains a little apart, sorrowfully 
watching the rite. Sheep are introduced into 
the foreground as if to suggest the service which 
Jacob is to perform in return for the favor 
shown him. 

A painting by Palma Vecchio, in the Dresden 
Gallery, tells the story of the meeting at the 
well according to the accepted traditions. In 
the foreground Jacob is saluting Rachel with a 
kiss, according to the custom in Eastern countries. 
Gathered closely about the central group are 
oxen and flocks of sheep with their shepherds. 
Hills rise gradually in the background, surmounted 
by large trees, and buildings of a too modem 
style of architecture. 

A curious picture by Andrea Appiani, in addi- 
tion to the customary details of the scene, reveals, 
through a rift in the clouds, Jehovah, in the act 
of blessing the youthful lovers. 

Some verses by an unknown writer, entitled, 
“ As Jacob Served for Rachel,” recall the “ old 
story ” in simple rhyme. 


Jacob and Rachel 


’Twas the love that lightened service ! 

The old, old story sweet 
That yearning lips and waiting hearts 
In melody repeat. 

As Jacob served for Rachel 
Beneath the Syrian sky, 

Like golden sands that swiftly drop, 
The toiling years went by. 


Chill fell the dews upon him, 

Fierce smote the sultry sun; 

But what were cold or heat to him, 

Till that dear wife was won ! 

The angels whispered in his ear, 

‘ Be patient and be strong ! ’ 

And the thought of her he waited for 
Was ever like a song. 

Sweet Rachel, with the secret 
To hold a brave man leal; 

To keep him through the changeful years, 
Her own in woe and weal; 

So that in age and exile, 

The death damp on his face, 

Her name to the dark valley lent 
Its own peculiar grace. 

And ‘ There I buried Rachel/ 

He said of that lone spot 


33 8 


The True Lovers’ Treasury 


In Ephrath, near to Bethlehem, 

Where the wife he loved was not; 

For God had taken from him 
The brightness and the zest, 

And the heaven above thenceforward kept 
In fee his very best. 

♦ 

“ As Jacob served for Rachel 
Beneath the Syrian sky; 

And the golden sands of toiling years 
Went swiftly slipping by: 

The thought of her was music 
To cheer his weary feet; 

’Twas love that lightened service, 

The old, old story sweet.” 


DARBY AND JOAN 

Lovers still, though wedded long! 

Time true love can never wrong ! ” 

— P. H. Hayne. 


DARBY AND JOAN 

Where can one find in literature or in life a 
more perfect example of true love, continuing 
through all the vicissitudes of the married state 
and flourishing in old age, than that expressed 
by the names, Darby and Joan? Of such a 
marriage Addison said : “Two persons who have 
chosen each other out of all the species with a 
design to be each other’s mutual comfort and 
entertainment have, in that action, bound them- 
selves to be good-humored, affable, discreet, 
forgiving, patient, and joyful, with respect to 
each other’s frailties and perfections, to the end 
of their lives.” 

We have every reason to believe that there 
lived in the eighteenth century, in Yorkshire, a 
real and much respected Darby and Joan, who 
were noted for their long and happy life. An old 
ballad, which was undoubtedly inspired by the 
virtues of this faithful pair, was supposed to have 
been written by one Henry Woodfall, although it 
has by some critics been attributed to Matthew 
34i 


342 The True Lovers’ Treasury 

Prior. However that may be, the names of 
Darby and Joan have come to be associated for 
all time with happily married couples who have 
remained lovers into old age. The lives of these 
two have literally blended in one sweet song since 
Frederic E. Weatherly, an English barrister and 
poet, composed the beautiful lyric, “ Darby and 
Joan,” which was set to music and quickly be- 
came popular. 

“ ‘ Darby, dear, we are old and gray; 

Fifty years since our wedding-day, 

Shadow and sun for every one as the years roll on ; 
Darby, dear, when the world went wry, 

Hard and sorrowful then was I, — 

Ah, lad, how you cheered me then: 

“ Things will be better, sweet wife, again,” 

Always the same, Darby my own, 

Always the same to your old wife Joan. 

“ ‘ Darby, dear, but my heart was wild 
When we buried our baby child, 

Until you whispered, “ Heaven knows best ! ” and 
my heart found rest. 

Darby, dear, ’twas your loving hand, 

Shewed the way to the better land — 

Ah, lad, as you kissed each tear, 

Life grew better and Heaven more near. 





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Darby and Joan 


343 


“ ‘ Hand in hand when our life was May, 

Hand in hand when our hair is gray, 

Shadow and sun for every one as the years roll on ; 
Hand in hand when the long night-tide 
Gently covers us side by side, — 

Ah ! lad, though we know not when, 

Love will be with us forever then: 

Always the same, Darby my own, 

Always the same to your old wife, Joan.’ ” 

No hint is given us as to the station in life of 
these aged lovers. We may therefore surround 
them with luxuries and imagine them as the 
artist Sadler has delighted to paint them in his 
interesting picture “ Darby and Joan in High 
Life.” The dear old faces are lighted up with 
a glow of refined happiness, as sitting opposite to 
each other at a perfectly appointed table, their 
thoughts seemingly go back to tender memories 
of the past. A sonnet by Mr. Ernest McGaffey 
which he calls “ Affinity ” is so appropriate in 
this connection that I take pleasure in quoting it 
here. 

“ The sparks fly always upward, and my soul 

Spreads wings to meet yours, as its one true mate, 
Whether the paths be blossom-crowned or strait 
Whether in gladness or in bitter dole; 


344 


The True Lovers’ Treasury 


No voice but yours can soothe me, or control, 

No words save yours my ways illuminate; 

I am content to follow, lead or wait, 

My eyes fixed ever on the distant goal. 

“ Not oak and vine are we, but lovers twain 
Who face the world together side by side, 

And so shall bide until our latest breath; 

In storm or shine, in burning sun or rain 

Through life’s long ways in comradeship allied, 
Not to be parted by the hands of death.” 


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